Contritum Canticum
by TheLionfart
Summary: "... of all the things he thought he would find in here, he did not expect a naked human to hold his gaze and look so *angry* of all things..." (Multi-chapter. AU. Megatron, Decepticons, human OCs. Previous title: Earth Pets. Betas: Darkrider213, Need2Scream, AshasCadence. Cover Art: AshasCadence.)
1. Naked and Not Afraid

A/N: So... Even though I know it's been worn to pieces, I've always really wanted to make a human pet story in Transformers. So, here it is! Again, I'm new to this, so reviews are appreciated. I will continue this based upon feedback. Also... If you've seen my other stories, you should start getting the sense that I'm a bit of a Megatron fan girl. :3

WARNINGS: brief nudity, cursing, dark themes.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Transformers franchise, sadly, only my OCs and original plots.

* * *

We begin our story as High Lord Megatron walked through the streets of Iacon, following the newly risen morning sun. Earth was directly behind him, a metallic, cresent outline in the sky next to the mirroring moon.

The High Lord of Cybertron and Earth would, usually, be taking a flight aboard the *Bastion* to Earth, or making a trip to Decepticon Headquarters to prevent Starscream from making attempts at usurping him. It had only sated the seeker and his air forces some when he gave him the title of Supreme Air Commander over both Earth and Cybertron. And that calm state did not take long to flee the wings the ambitious seeker.

But today, he had informed Soundwave - perhaps on late notice, but he could improvise - that he would be taking the day away from the tiring politics and boisterous squabbling of his shaky dictatorship. He would admit that; the government over Earth and Cybertron, having a slow start and barely a few vorns old, was having trouble.

Resources, both for the human labor on Earth and the slowly growing population of Cybertron, were in such high demands that they were not being properly met. The cyberformation of Earth had been partially successful. Only a little over thirty percent of the surface, which included most of North America and a touch of the North Atlantic, had been successfully cyberformed. By then, the Autobots had intervened by destroying the Omega Lock. Megatron had always believed he would later rebuild the Lock, but, had discovered interesting facts about the organic race that inhabited the planet after he rose to the throne.

When the Autobot's cause had finally been scraped from the face of the galaxy and Cybertron restored, Megatron only had one matter left to take care of before turning to rebuilding his planet. The humans.

He had little knowledge of the race, besides their obvious similarities to them and his dealings with the irritating younglings the Autobot's had kept. So as he addressed Earth's rulers, he had little foreknowledge of what their reaction would be to his claim on their planet. He was a almost a little curious of what the group of pudgy, elderly men would do in the face of his narrative of their options. He made sure to point to the decimation of the United States, the reigning world power, after the attempted cyberformation. Would they surrender? Negotiate? Fight as Optimums had for 'the right of sentient beings?'

He was not dissapointed. Earth, or at least it's representatives, were cowardly. They begged for mercy.

It did not take long for a labor force to be set up; society on Earth was easily subjugated under pressures from a vastly superior race. And so, major cities on Cybertron were quickly rebuilt. Crops on Earth were quick to make a comeback from the shock of the Omega Lock's attack. Energon was flowing from the newly restored resevoirs. Well, it *was* flowing.

A vorn, maybe two, passed before the wells of Cybertron began to dry up. They shriveled, furrows in the surface like squinted eyes, their streams of energy waning, turned to pained weeping. Riots began, smalls bands in the streets growing and becoming rivers of displeased pioneers of the New Cybertron. They all flowed towards Decepticon Command Headquarters in Iacon. Megatron's carefully weaved propaganda of his successful crusade to rid Cybertron of the corrupt Senate was slowly coming apart.

The riots did calm, though, with some well-placed bombings throughout the country side and in the suburbs, and a revamp of the labor force on Earth. Renewed vigor was put into the effort of mining Energon. Still to the day Megatron walked towards the sun on one of Iacon's streets, it still was the dominant import from Earth, claiming ninety percent of the declared goods. The rest was mostly luxuries, including but not excluding polishing products, rare edible minerals, jewels, and humans.

The human population was carefully monitored and grown, almost exclusively used for the mining operations and the research of artificial production of Energon. But a small portion of the population was legally pulled from the workforce for other uses - many were bought as slaves for specialty uses for various companies on Cybertron, as some of the remaining Autobots had been. But, the remaining group was often kept by the upper class as pets.

Megatron had given a hard look towards the first human pet he had seen. Skywarp, one of Starscream's, had toted the handicapped organic - having lost an arm to one of the bigger machines in the energon mines - into the meeting chambers one morning sometime after the Energon shortage riots. Needless to say, due to the fresh memory of the backlash of Energon shortages, a heated discussion dominated the morning and late into the day of whether they would allow the legal keeping and raising of humans for recreational purposes. Megatron listened mostly to Shockwave and Starscream hash it out throughout the debate, but he eventually grew tired. Skywarp got to keep what was in Megatron's mind a useless rodent, and if human pets became a fad, then they would set up precautions to regulate the new industry.

It did not take long at all for Megatron to gain a major headache over the decision. It did catch on, and soon every mech and femme of the wealth to afford accommodations for the creatures owned a human. Thankfully, though, after a few Earth months proper regulations were set as to not have a repeat of the uprising.

In fact, it was so popular, that it was what Megatron was doing today. Buying a human. Two factors led to this decision. First, it was that humans had become as much as a status symbol as the Decepticon insignia on his chest. The small creatures' accommodations simply to keep them alive outside Earth's atmosphere was not inexpensive, and many wealthy business owners and politicians had them preform tricks and shows at parties for their guests. Starscream had prodded him frequently on the subject, and even Soundwave had acquired a small male. Second, he was actually curious as to why the small things were so praised by even the Decepticon command. What made them so special? Everything he knew about humans only told him two things: they made messes, and could be supremely stubborn.

But, he had broken down after he had discovered that Soundwave's small human had begun to learn to read Cybertronian and now helped him with his surveillance of the empire. He was going to buy a human.

Megatron knew that he couldn't go buy an inferior specimen, as that would result in silent - or perhaps not so silent, in the case of Starscream - scoff and scorn from the masses. He knew where the rest of his Decepticon's bought supplies and stock for their pets, and that was were he was going.

It was an unusual sight to see the High Lord walk down one of Iacon's busiest streets without an entourage, as he was not known for making idle walks. But, for this task, he had decided it was simple enough for him to travel on pede to the merchant. It was a beautiful morning, either way, and it was good for the civilians to sometimes see the Savior of their beloved home in the flesh from time to time. And it obviously was working, for as he parted through the traffic of the congested street all mechs within just a few feet paused to kneel, scurrying to the side to watch him pass with wide optics.

He turned down an alley that seemed not so fitting for an official of Cybertron to be visiting, but he did not give the thought more than a moment. He stopped in front of a shop, paneled windows letting natural light filter through to the front. He entered, pausing in front to observe the business.

It was quiet, chirps from a pair of turbo foxes somewhere deeper in the store the only real disturbance. There were a few isles in the moderate room, but to the far wall was glass containers with small bipedal forms crouched in the corner or standing to look at him. A thought occurred to him then: he wanted a human that stood to greet him when he approached.

Some bustling green figure emerged from the back, brushing himself off. "Hello, what can I do for-"

Megatron turned, and the shopkeeper backpedalled. He dove from behind the counter and dropped to his knees, stiff as a board. "High Lord Megatron! What an honor to receive you in my humble establishment! Forgive me, I do not have the pleasure of-"

"I'm looking for a human." Megatron did not like preamble when he had business to do.

"A- A- Wha'?" The shopkeeper's head shot up. "Oh of course! Let me just-" Then he looked into Megatron's eyes once more, and his face made a *smack* when it hit the floor. "F-forgive me, m'lord! I'm just so-"

"You may rise." Megatron rolled his optics, tone thoroughly impatient.

"Thank you, m'lord!" He bolted to his pedes, hands wringing. "Um, yes, this way, m'lord!"

He turned and began walking to the back, but Megatron did not follow. "But what of these humans?" He gestured to the glass tanks. "Are they not your stock?"

The green mech paused, turning. "Oh, um, yes, of course. But they are not what I present to the Decepticon command, no, abosulutely not! I have just received a new shipment from a supplier in the Middle East, and the new humans are being held in the back, waiting for sorting. But I've already selected the best individuals, and these up here compare poorly to the new! So, yes, this way, m'lord."

He again turned once Megatron began following, and he led him through the back. He had to duck underneath the door he passed through, and sideways at that. It only made the small shopkeeper more nervous as he blubbered out an apology that was partly to fast for Megatron to understand. Megatron, though irritated, had come expect it. Not many buildings were designed for bots of his size.

The shopkeeper nervously shuffled towards the large cages and crates holding the new shipment. He immediately began praddling on about the quality of some of the specimens, and asked him to excuse their shyness as many humans are a bit shell-shocked after their interstellar journey. He was right - none came forward to see Megatron as he approached as some in the front had, and he was almost tempted to see the others first. But he did admit that for what little he knew about humans these appeared to be better quality. They had better weights, brighter optics, and the females even appeared attractive by Cybertronian standards.

"Now, most these here are from the British Isles, or England, but we have a few Africans, Iranians, and even a couple of Koreans in the back here," - he pointed towards a cage where the humans had light olive skin - "But for the most part, you'll be speaking English to this group. No need to download new language packs then!"

Megatron paused purusing the humans, looking back to him with his hands clasped behind his back. "They still speak English?"

"O-on Earth?" The shopkeeper questioned. "Oh, yes, they most certainly do. It's slowly becoming mandatory, actually - breaking down the language barriers in the production facilities has improved output. But most of these here were bred in farms specifically for producing pets, so most of them do speak their countries mother tongue, as they say."

Megatron decided it was hard to assess the humans when they were so disoriented, most asleep, the others gazing off into space or giving him cold, scared stares. "How long will they stay like this?" his tone was displeased.

"Not long!" He rushed to amend. "Most acclimate within two to three Earth days, though some can take a week. But they should be back to their active selves in just a few hours, I'm guessing."

"Your guessing." Megatron muttered, just loud enough for the shopkeeper to hear. He did not respond, and Megatron looked at the other crates that had yet to be unloaded. Though, one was opened, off to the side. He took a step towards it, and the mech jumped into a flurry.

"O-oh that one's quaranteened - probably had something before it got loaded, I'm going to have the rest of the bunch checked before I let them mingle with the rest up front."

"What's wrong with it?" Megatron peered into the cage, seeing a tiny figure hiding in the shadows of the box.

"Something upper resipatory, and severe. She's not going to make it. I'm going to have a word with my supplier for sending me unhealthy stock."

In the dark corner of the cage, Megatron could see a clearly naked and trembling female. The smallest noise came out of her - a rattling wheeze, with each exhalation. She looked up from the long fur on her head, straight in his eyes, and held them for a moment.

Her bare feet not making a noise on the grates of the bottom of her cage, she stood, inching her way closer. Eyes shone with intelligence - fearful, but that fear was quenched. She walked closer, trying to cover herself and stay in the shadows. Her face looked pale in the light as she crept into it, eyes bloodshot and lips trembling. Megatron was slightly surprised - of all things he thought he would find in here, he did not expect a naked human to hold his gaze and look so *angry* of all things.

And he liked it.

"Prepare her for travel." His voice commanded, walking towards the front of the shop.

"W-what?" the shopkeeper was floored. "But, m'lord, if I may, I cannot insure her health, a-at-at *all.*" He followed Megatron's imposing figure until he turned back to him, smouldering red eyes hard. The shopkeeper gulped, but continued. "She is horrendously sick, and she also has preexisting conditions! She'll need medication for the rest of her life, including treatment for the infection, a-and females are always harder to care for. Plus, she's an illegal! Wasn't raised in a farm, nor registered in the workforce. Personality wise, after all that running about it in the badlands, she will be a *handful,* no doubt. And that's not even factoring in her age! The young adults are always feisty..." He gave the human a glance, and expected to turn back to a Megatron who might be reconsidering. But the same hard expression stared right back.

"I will be needing all the supplies to care for her that are immediately necessary. Also, a human doctor reference, and all of her current health records that you have. You may bill to my offices at Decepticon Headquarters."

He turned to leave for the front again, and the green mech was stunned. "B-b-but-"

Megatron turned around again, eyes more sinister, his voice lowering to something more threatening. "Will I be needing to take my business elsewhere, citizen?"

"N-no, sir! M'lord!" He bowed low, eyes darting around the floor. "She will be ready to leave in a few minutes!"

Megatron barely acknowledge him, ducking through the doorway again and headed towards the front. He sat in a bench by the door way, waiting.

The mech returned with a cage and a small sack, as promised. Megatron heard the wheezing even inside the crate.

"Yes, here you are, m'lord. Ive included a weeks worth of food - be advised, she is sensitive to sugar cane, dairy, and highly allergic to gluten. I *emplore* you, do not feed her wheat, barely, or rye, or any derivates of them. She will be heading straight to the nearest hospital."

He handed Megatron the crate and the sack, bowing, as Megatron held the small crate in one hand as he subspaced the supplies. "If there is anyway else I can be of service to our High Lord, please, do not hesitate to contact me." He paused, then leaned in. "And if she becomes too much, don't worry about bringing her back. Just off her and flush her down the latrine, if you would. Make it quick and painless."

Megatron gave the shopkeeper a squint, but nodded. "If it would be best, then I will. But I highly doubt she will become 'too much.'"

At that he turned on his heel, leaving the shopkeeper beaming but slightly confused.

* * *

Megatron returned to Decepticon Command relatively late in the day, as planned, far after Starscream and his posse left. He had made a quick trip to the recommended veterinarian after noticing his human was out cold, only to be assured that she was merely sedated. And after a quick examination of the unconscious female, was given medications to help with a severe lung infection. He made an appointment for an in-house visit later that week for a more thorough evaluation, as he was growing tired of the stares sent his way by the common rabble. He was beginning to believe he had a desperate need to make more public appearances if simply his visage across the street had full-grown mechs cowering in fear.

But, even though he arrived at Command in the after hours of the work week, he knew to expect one mech still attending to his duties.

He knocked twice, firmly, on Soundwave's office door, though he knew he probably already had seen the warlord on the security cameras. The door swished open for him, and he found his Security Director where he always knew he could - sitting in the glow of a console as he examined footage of all the empire.

He never ceased to impress Megatron; Soundeave's abilities were always first-rate, but when he made the jump from surveilling one planet to *two,* still nothing slipped past him. He even knew of the sedition before the riots weeks in advance.

"Soundwave." Megatron greeted, a genuine smile on his face. "I would reprimand you for not getting rest, but at this point, we both know it's pointless."

Soundwave's mask held no emotion, but his voice sounded like he was smiling. "Yes, we both do. I apologize, Master, but the work is never done."

Megatron's smile slowly slid off his face, replaced by tiredness. "No, it is not. Yes, it makes me think, back to the day we stood on a new Cybertron as Optimus lay dead before me. Ironic, how the ground thrummed to life underneath his grayed body. Your first words in hundreds of vorns, and you chose to say, 'Now, look at all the work we have to do.'"

This time, Megatron swore he could see the grin through Soundwave's mask. "It was true, and it still is." He looked at the crate. "Don't tell me you did."

Megatron sighed as the TIC came forward and held out his hand, asking for her. Megatron gave him the container, and the slender mech's fingers took it gently, setting it on his desk. He opened the door and pulled the small form out, still unconscious.

He seemed taken aback. "You purchased *this?*" He was flabbergasted.

Megatron was quick to defend himself. "Yes, it had spirit. Looked me right in the eye; the rest didn't dare." He paused. "But... Is it... That bad?"

"No, forgive me, Master," Soundwave sounded apprehensive. "It's not... Bad. Just unexpected." He reached behind his desk and pulled a thick, soft cloth from a drawer. Megatron's gaze following his hand, he just now noticed Soundwave's human, Darren, standing attentive on the desk. Soundwave wrapped the cloth around the female's form, and it bothered Megatron that Darren's eyes lingered so long on her bare skin.

Soundwave leaned in and listened closely to her chest, hearing the heavy rattling. "Did you take her to a physician?"

"Yes, and they said it would take a while, but she would recover. They prescribed medication for the infection."

Megatron had not seen Soundwave's face but twice in his life. Once, partially, when his mask cracked severely in battle the first time they met. He remembers his bloodied lips pulled in a thin line well. The second, when they were in interstellar space, traveling to Earth, just before Megatron left on his three year journey in the cosmos. Because of seeing his face so little, he had become very, very good at assessing Soundwave's body language. He had it, contrary to the rumors that flitted about the Decepticon - and now civilian - ranks. And right now, Soundwave had a parental concern wafting off of him that Megatron only witnessed when he was with with his own sybiotes, and recently, Darren.

"Do you think that's all?" Megatron asked.

Soundwave paused, but shook his head. "No."

He carefully removed the cloth over her midsection. She was laying on her side, and Soundwave carefully ran his digits over her ribs. He stopped on faint pink, puffy scars, jagged and gruesome. Megatron had scars like that, and they had hurt when he earned them.

"She was injured, and I believe she was never healed properly. This is just an after affect. It's surprising she has made it this far without medical treatment. She's an illegal, is she not?"

"Yes, that's what I was told."

"Breakdown's pet was an illegal, and you know how long it took and how many mishaps he went through before the rat was ready for the public. Are you sure about this?"

Megatron's eyes were hard as he turned to his TIC. "Of course!" He snapped.

Soundwave averted his gaze to the floor. "Of course, Master. You understand the commitment."

He put the female back in her cage, careful to bundle her up. "I hope you acquired clothes for her."

"What?"

"Their outer coverings. She's going to need some to keep warm. I know you like it cold."

Megatron thought for a moment, then huffed. "She can make due with polishing cloths."

Soundwave smiled. "Prepare to do a lot of improvising. Especially when she begins to menstruate."

"*What?*"

Darren coughed; both mechs turned to him, but he had his arms crossed and was looking wide eyed off into the distance, refusing to acknowledge them.

Megatron turned back to Soundwave, suspicious of this English word. "What do you mean, 'menstu-'"

"We're going to have plenty of opportunities to discuss her care, Master. It's getting late. The best thing for her right now is to get settled in."

Soundwave reached down and scooped up Darren. The dark haired boy bowed to Megatron as Soundwave did. "Goodnight, Master."

"A good rest to you as well, Soundwave." Megatron nodded, clapping him on the shoulder as he left for his home.

Megatron looked at the crate on the desk and silently sighed. He might as well prepare her for bed.

* * *

When Megatron was choosing his abode during the rebuilding of the planet, he decided that it needed to be close to Command Headquarters, wherever that was going to be. He spent some time trying to plan layouts with the existing structures remaining after the war, until he came up with a novel idea: instead of make his home near or next to Command, why not make his home *in* Command? Or better yet, make Command in his home?

So, behind the forefront of offices and meeting rooms of Headquarters, connected by a long, tall, wide hallway, was Megatron's castle. Yes, it was a castle. He loved his castle. He loved his castle almost as much as his title. It's christening of 'Darkmount,' after his fallen fortress, held a close second for his favorite memory, right after the death of Optimus Prime.

He walked through the long hallway quickly - he could tell the human was waking up by the groans and irregular breathing. He walked through the great room and past the guest bedrooms. His servants had all left for the day, as part of him still liked to recharge knowing he was alone, so he would need to settle her in on his own.

He took the elevator up over the stairs as not to jostle her, and walked across the hall to his berthroom. He went straight to the bathroom, drawing hot water in the sink. He remembered once, Soundwave said Darren liked hot baths. He would see if his human liked them as well.

He set the crate down, grabbing towels and a gentle cleaning solution he liked to used on his cuts and scrapes. He took the supplies given to him by the trader out of his subspace, and went through them. He had a strange substance advertised as a human food substitute, though he had never seen anything like it. It was reddish-brown, canned, and mushy. He wondered if the human would even eat it. He decided that he would ask Soundwave what he fed Darren, but the canned food would do for now.

He actually did have some clothes - what looked like two pairs, simple sheaths. He set those aside along with the records, what looked like medical and known history. He was too curious not to thumb through the criminal records, and saw something about theft, but that was about the time he heard her squeak.

He looked at the cage, setting the holopad down. The rags inside were being rustled, movement visible in the grates on the sides of the cage.

He got up, slow and careful as he remembered Soundwave once said that humans were always skittish when you first take them home. He kneeled next to the cage, looking inside. She was standing, wrapped in her blankets, hair matted. She stared back at him when he said nothing, silent, still as a statue.

He was very unsure of what to do next, but knew that whatever he did, it would be a lasting impression. He resolved to open the crate, hand quietly reaching forward to unlatch the clasp.

He blinked, and she was pressed up against the other end of the crate, arms held against the back wall behind her, chest wheezing rapidly. Her sleepy eyes had turned wild in an instant.

"Easy," came out of his mouth too quick to catch, and for once, he cursed his rough, gravelly voice. "I'm not going to hurt you. You want out of this cage, don't you?"

When she didn't respond, staring uncomprehendingly at him, he remembered that he was still speaking Cybertronian. He cursed, shaking his head. "It's okay," he tried, gently, but he swore English just made his Koanite rasp all the more hard. "Come here. I'm not going to hurt you. I've got medication for you, and a warm bath drawn. I have no intention to harm you."

She paused, thinking, a dozen emotions flashing across her face so rapidly Megatron had a hard time seeing them all in the dark of the back of the crate. She calmed, though, arms still held at her side, expression skeptical. "Your him, aren't you?"

He paused, not expecting her question. All he could come out with was a dumb, "What?"

"Your him." She still panted, then coughed, coughed this horrible cough, and Megatron then understood the human expression 'hack up a lung.' When she recovered, she countinued, "Your him. Megatron. The eyes, the shoulders, the voice. Your him."

He didn't quite know what the correct response to that would be, so settled on a firm, "Yes."

She sighed. "Well then," she steadied herself, gathering a deep breath. It seemed like she was trying to inhale the world in that breath. "Then you can go *frag* yourself!"

She dove under the blankets, tossing him a middle finger, and then stayed under there.

He stayed in front of that cage until the water in the sink started overflowing.

As he stood in the warm puddle in front of the imported marble countertop, staring at the crate, he worked himself into a serious wroth over the whole ordeal. He now understood why everyone cautioned him so much over the female.

He felt the smallest sense of dread settling in.


	2. Scores

A/N: Thank you for the follows and favorites, and the lovely review from Answerthecall! It's what keeps me going! I have no beta reader and I do all my editing myself, so excuse any messiness, and if someone would like to voluteer for beta-ing I would be delighted! :) I honestly am very unsure where this is heading, but I have a general idea of where I want it to end and some basic plot points, so I might take my time writing it. For some reason, when I start writing, the stories always get so big so quickly. 8|

WARNINGS: Torture, frightening scenes (hopefully :P), nudity, language, dark themes.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Transformers franchise, sadly, only my OCs and original plots.

* * *

Megatron awoke with a start, everything from the waist up springing upright in his spacious berth. Eyes wide and confused, he brought up his internal hub to see the time. It was mid-morning on Cybertron, and on the weekend. He sighed, plopping down again to fall back into recharge.

He felt still, though, that he was missing something. He cautiously brought up his calender, wanting nothing more than to stay in today. But he was mistaken. He only had a note mentioning Shockwave's exhibition at a newly opened science museum in Hong Kong, and he was not even personally invited by the scientist, so he would not bother attending.

He tried again to drift back into recharge, but the nagging feeling would not go away. When he heard a light metallic clang from the bathroom, he remembered. *The human.*

He sat upright, swinging off the berth and walking quietly towards the bathroom's doorway. He paused in the doorframe, peeking in to see if she was awake yet. He had drained the sink last night and - but did he close her...

He saw the crate's door wide open, and his spark seized in panic. He could see it now - a headline in the news, *'High Lord Looses Ape Pet*'. He bolted into the bathroom, eyes darting around to see if she left footprints or any other clues to where she might have gone. *She's microscopic,* he thought. *She couldn't have gone far.*

He saw one of the sheaths missing, and a dozen or so food cans open, strewn about. *How could she eat so many in one night? She must have been ravenous.* He then noticed the cans made a trail, and not off the counter, but towards her cage.

He leaned down carefully, optics lighting the crate's interior with a faint red glow. She was curled up with a few more cans, wrapped in blankets and donning the missing sheath with her hands caked in the canned sustenance. She was fast asleep.

He sighed, audibly. "Wake up."

She stirred, lightly, but did not move more than an inch. He took the cage lightly in one hand and shook it gently. "Wake up," he repeated.

She groaned, a long winded, grumbling mewl. Megatron did not need to strain his audios to hear her as he did some of the humans. She was plenty loud, the moan carrying on and on as she stretched. She ended the noise with a huff, eyes still screwed tight, then strung up another tone as she stretched her arms in front of her like a cat. Megatron was a bit transfixed by the whole scene, not seeing or hearing anything quite like it before. She was apparently very vocal.

He waited a few moments, watching her wake, until she seemed to remember something too. Her eyes shot open, taking in the cage walls, and then him. She immediately bolted to her feet, the sheath appearing much shorter on her than he had anticipated. Her long legs were thin, and her arms were like willowy limbs, but it was obviously not an appropriate weight for her. He would need to fatten her up.

"Calm down," he spoke quietly in English. "I will reiterate: I'm not going to harm you."

She all but sneered, her eyes hard. "How can I believe you?" He noted that her voice rang clear and her breaths came unlabored, signs the drugs were working to clear up her infection.

He paused, then huffed. "With time. Come here."

"Screw off!"

"Come. Here."

"Go frag-"

But he had already heard this once, and he wasn't in the mood to watch it play out again. He lifted the cage, turning it upside down, and she tumbled out on the countertop with the blankets and cans.

He stared down, anger slowly rising. "Now, I will narrate the rules, and only once."

He leaned down on her level, eyes smoldering. "You will not speak so disrespectfully to me, rat. I am your *owner,* and you are my *pet.* I can and will do with you as I please."

He picked her up by the scruff of her sheath, she seeming stuck somewhere between petrified with fear and simmering with rage. "You will do as I say, when I say. No more running about the badlands as a fugitive, as a 'freeman' or an 'American.' You are my property now, and you will never again be free."

He lifted her close, his hot exhaust washing over her and blowing the tangled hair out of her face. He saw his own red optics in her dilated eyes. "You are mine now. You will live the rest of your life, here, on Cybertron, with me. You are an entertainment, a plaything, so I expect you to be amusing and enjoyable for me and my guests. So,"

He pulled the sheath straight off her head, to a flurry of foul-mouthed protests from her. "First, to be even *remotely* attractive, you need to cleaned."

He walked to the sink, once again filling it with hot water. He was tempted to make it scolding since her screaming was so flippant. "You do not *own* people! I'm a sentient being, just like you! I'll get out of here and show you, you tin-can bucket-headed overgrown calculator!"

He dropped her naked form on the counter, where she held her knees to her chest. "Your gonna wake up *dead,* you sonofabitch!"

He was currently thinking of a way to punish her, as she was blatantly ignoring the first rule, and by extension, the second. *Primus, her only job is to sit and be petted, yet she won't be satisfied with it.*

He stood over her, her mantra seeming more and more like Starscream's prattling with every word. He pinched his eyes shut until he couldn't handle it anymore.

"Enough!" A fist slammed the counter next to her, cracking it. He lifted his servo to see the crumbles fall of his knuckles. He growled. "You *will* obey me, even if it takes severe *consequences.*"

She was unintimidated, eyes flashing. "Then try me, bitch!" His patience snapped.

She was suddenly in a fist, and in the next moment, under the water. She struggled and screamed, wasting all of her shaky breath in a matter of seconds. He waited, smoldering optics looking down at her and seething. She writhed and kicked in vain, his digits clamped down tight on her until she began to still. A few lone bubbles drifted to the surface, and he blinked.

He lifted his servo out of the water, and laid her on the marble counter. Her wet skin picked up the dust and crumbles in the crater as his servo had. She was still for a moment, then wretched, reflex kicking in. She turned on her side feebly, coughing slick water onto the counter. Her palms hit the marble and she sat there, shallow, sick coughing wracking her frame, something hanging off her lip.

He did not give her much time to recover, picking her up again in a fist and staring her in the eyes. She was otherwise placid, but he noticed how she recoiled from his hand, arms trying to cover herself from his touch as she wheezed hesitantly. He grumbled, "Now, where were we..."

He hovered his hand over the bathwater, planning on setting her in it, but she cowered with a squeal, trying to squirm her way out of his hand. It was startling to see the open terror in her eyes.

"Stop your blithering." He spat out, dropping her in the water.

She seemed paralyzed once she hit the surface with a small splash, treading water fearfully as he grabbed a cloth and cleaning solution he had left out the night before. He went to catch her again, but she pushed against the rim of the sink, staring up at him with this new expression he had not seen her use before. He decided he did not like it.

His servo relaxed, and so did his face soften, a digit dipping under the water to stroke her back carefully. She jerked away, but she didn't have far to go, his patient servo following her around the rim until she was trapped between the two of them. One cupped under her as the other soaped the cloth, and he felt a small smile creeping up on him.

Her expression went from absolute terror to worried in a few minutes, relaxing under the rinses of water he cupped then dumped over her head. She seemed to get hot often, panting after a few minutes under the water. He lifted his servo so she could find escape from the heat if she desired, perched up on the tips of his digits.

She was quiet for the rest of the bath, but reserved. She gave him a death glare when he went to clean what the humans referred to as their 'privates;' he had to remind himself that they were incredibly shy, physically, compared to Cybertronians, especially the Caucasians. So, he decided that he had tested her bounds enough for the day and left her alone on that matter.

He did not like that sheath, nor did he have any other clothes for her, however. While he contemplated dressing options, he heard her say something quietly. His eyes eyes flashed on her.

"What?" It had been his first words in over an hour.

"Oh, nothing." She wasn't as quiet, but her voice was contained, the tone different.

He was more pointed. "What did you say?"

She held his eyes for a moment, and he noted that she did that a lot. A tingle bloomed in his chassis, growing with each second she matched his stare. Then she smiled, bearing bone-white, straight teeth that he saw even clearer on her clean face. Her eyes did not crinkle, but bunched together in an interesting way when her firm cheeks rose to accomodate her grin. It was an earnest smile. "Tweety: one. Megatron: one. We're even."

He paused, trying to understand what she was saying. *Tweet-...* But then he stopped. "Your name is Tweety?"

The grin settled into a gentle smile. He decided that he liked her demeanor after baths, relaxed and settled into a corner of a fluffy towel. She would receive one daily. "It's what I've always been called, so yeah."

He rolled the English name off his tongue silently. *Tweety.* It seemed more like a nickname than a given name, though. But if it was what she preferred.

He turned his grey mass away from her, walking across the room to see if there was some smaller scrap of fabric he could wrap her in. "But why are we even? It appears that I have won this round completely and with finality."

He heard her smile turn demure from behind him. "But I told you to frag off and got away with it last night, remember?"

He paused, pursing his lips. "Well it won't happen again." He found a small scrap of polishing cloth that was small enough to perhaps pin around her. She needed clothes, so he send a maid out shop for her next week. But where did they acquire clothes for humans on Cybertron?

He turned back to her, examining the cloth closer, until he noticed her preening in the mirror. Her hands carefully combed through her hair, but it was futile. Thick mats similar to dreadlocks had invaded her back-length hair, making long tendrils that weren't going away anytime soon.

"We're just going to have to cut it off." He declared, rummaging through the cabinets for a pin.

"No!" She shouted, turning to him. "My hair is *important!* Human hair is part of the nervous system - it's what gave the Native Americans superpowers!"

He paused, looking nonplussed. "I doubt that."

"Research it, *bit-*" But she stuttered to a halt at his cool stare. "M-master." She amended with a chuckle.

His optics brightened. "Yes. You are to refer to me as 'Master' from now on, and only that." His tone was sadistically gleeful.

She sunk deeper into the towel, frowning. He ignored her pout, picking her up and pulling the towel off, making her yelp in the open air.

"Lift your arms," he demanded, and she did so carefully. "Part your legs, too." He said flatly, and she looked at him, shocked.

He sighed. "I'm trying to *appeal* to your ridiculous demands for privacy, so just do it. And stand up."

Her cheeks reddened furiously, but she stood with a wide stance, her arms raised at her sides. He chastely wrapped the cloth over her shoulders, between her legs, around her middle and back, and then pinned it at the nape of her neck.

She stood back from him, transfixed at this new apparel. But he noticed how she seemed to sag in relief; her arms went to her sides, feeling the soft fabric of the polishing cloth.

He smiled, grabbing her in a fist and turning to the bedroom. She protested at being handled so roughly, but he ignored her, too focused on what to do next.

He usually spent his free hours indoors, reading, sparring with drones, or reviewing new presentations by various members of Decepticon Command. But now that he had this new acquisition, he might have to change his plans. He needed to better assess her character, and he thought that might be better done seeing her interact with her own kind. He could drop in on Soundwave, though he did want to give the the courtesy of privacy to his favorite officer. He had treated him well for many vorns.

He would still visit him, though, for this occasion. But he would give some warning.

*:Soundwave. Are you available this afternoon?:*

It took longer than a moment for the telepath to reply, though not by much. *:Yes, Lord Megatron. Is your new human... giving you trouble?:*

Megatron let a thoughtful hum filter through the link. *:I would not say that... I am of the mind we've already settled our differences. I merely wanted to see her sociability before I let her run loose through the common of headquarters.:*

*:Ah. Most wise. Do you wish me to report at Darkmount?:*

*:No, I'll be coming to you. Expect me in a couple breems.:*

*:I will be waiting, Lord Megatron.:*

He cut the link, looking back down at his hand. He had led them to the great room as he had walked, and she seemed taken aback, protests going silent. His faced turned confused as he looked down. "What? What is it?"

She was transfixed, eyes darting over the walls. "It's so... *big.*"

He realized, then, that yes, it must be big for one so small. He let out a little chuckle, and he noticed how her brows quirked at the sound, her head titled to make her ears attentive. He walked through the hallway into the offices, her eyes and ears flicking and titling this way and that as they walked the empty halls.

He walked through the front doors into the daylight with no preamble, and she flinched against the sun. Shielding her eyes with her arms, she ground out, "God, that's bright."

He opened his subspace, setting her inside carefully. He felt the reverberation of her loud voice inside his chassis. "Ah, that's better."

He knew that she wouldn't be thinking that for long, but transformation was a fact of life she was going to have to get used to. He shifted, and heard her scream jolt all around him, gears whirring until they settled into his jet mode. He shot off above the tall glass buildings of Iacon, heading for the skyline. She panted in the passenger seat, hands clutching the seatbelt.

"Well. Alright." She tentatively looked out the cockpit window, then sat back up ramrod straight in her seat. "Yes. That's high."

He humored her. "Yes, it is."

They were silent for a minute or more, until she just couldn't seem to handle it anymore. She blurted out, "Where are you taking me?"

He contemplated his answer, careful of his words. "My communications officer. He will asses you."

"Okay."

The rest of the flight was silent, and he could tell she felt awkward in it. Though her face was stoic, she rubbed her fingers, hands alternating petting each other. He eventually noticed her shivers and diverted more energon flow to the seat to make her warmer, but he soon realized it wasn't because she was cold.

The flight was brief to Soundwave's residence, and Megatron transformed once again. She didn't scream this time, and sat upright in his palm once he was bipedal. He walked quickly up the doorstep of the abandoned apartment building on the outskirts of the city, punching the code to gain entrance to the elevator and entering. Her eyes watched his moves carefully, even swaying to the rhythm of his gait.

He knocked quietly on Soundwave's front door, knowing he might wake a sleeping cassette. When the door opened, he was not greeted by Soundwave's face, but let his eyes drift to the floor.

A blue cassette stared up at him, eyes wide, then huffed. "Boss, it's for *you.*" He bowed dramatically, disappearing behind the door with a flourish. Megatron entered, unamused, but Tweety peeked over his hand to try and find the little mech.

Soundwave entered the bustling common room as Megatron did, bowing his head and giving Frenzy a quick look. The red mech turned the sound on the gaming console off, looking over his shoulders to watch the proceedings.

Tweety's eyes darted to the cassettes in the room, the high ceiling, and then Soundwave. Megatron reached forward, patting his TIC on the shoulder. "Thank you for receiving me on such short notice, Soundwave. I know you prefer to keep business in the week."

If the communications officer was lying, he did not show it. "There is no inconvenience, master. I am happy to see your new acquisition."

He leaned forward, giving Tweety a visored stare. "Darren."

A mop of black hair popped out from behind the corner, a distinctly British lilt calling back, "Yes, master?"

"Come see Megatron's human. Your name?"

It took Tweety a moment to realize he had asked her. "T-tweety," she stuttered.

Soundwave righted himself. "Tweety. Fascinating. I see that cough has cleared up overnight, as well. Rumble, get a pitcher of water. And grab some of Darren's lunch."

The blue cassette grumbled but did as told, poking his glossa out at Darren as he passed by. The human gave a lopsided grin in return, gesturing something rude behind him.

Soundwave picked up Darren and invited Megatron to the couch to sit, but Tweety heard none the exchange. She was staring at Darren, and Megatron only noticed her fixation after a few minutes of speaking idly with Soundwave.

He flicked his gaze back to the telepath, and Soundwave nodded. They set them both on the table, and waited to see their interaction.

Megatron was not quite sure what Tweety's intense stare meant, so he kept his hand rested on the table, ready to snatch her up should their meeting turn violent. Darren tried to give Tweety a smile, but it faltered after her refusal to reciprocate.

She stood where she was as he walked forward carefully, straightening his flannel shirt nervously. "Hi." Was all he said.

Her hands twitched, and she gave him a simple quirk of the brow. "Hello."

He gulped, twining his fingers in front of him. "S-so your Lord Megatron's now, eh? Got yourself a good one there. The rich owners get their pets all the nice stuff."

She wrinkled her nose. "'Good one'? How 'bout a load of *horseshit.*"

Megatron's knee-jerk reaction was to pick her up and show her what this 'horseshit' just was, but Soundwave raised a hand to implicate to wait. Megatron paused, then leaned back in his chair to observe.

Meanwhile, Darren's smile had reemerged, and his eyes had deepened. "You sound like your from the badlands?"

She nodded, her arms crossed. "Yeah."

His eyes shifted, again, solemn and apologetic. "I heard it's pretty rough out there. Never seen them myself; I grew up in a farm."

"Oh, so your a *lapdog.* That makes since, your soft tone and little smiles. Just *born* to please."

He laughed, a small sound. He thought for a moment, his hand coming to scratch the scruff on his chin quizzically. "Some might think that being a lapdog is all about pleasing your master, but it's actually much more than that. I thought I was set since I was the runt of my litter. I was used to being pushed around, gentlest of the bunch. I could easily sit all day and watch Soundwave work. But, when it turned out Soundwave hadn't been looking at our personalities, per se, but instead, reviewing our I.Q. scores, I realized I wasn't going to *watch* him work - I was going to *help* him work."

Her face had gone slack now, and he had the attention of the whole table. "I'm learning to read and write Cybertronian languages, hear 'em, too. The seeker's troop, Trystan and Marcus, even little Poppy, they all have talents as well. It's not just looking twee - this is about being flexible. So my suggestion to you, from an seasoned pro to a badlands noob: take a good look around. Find something to *do,* yeah? The Cybertronians' are still a little shell-shocked that we even speak."

She stared in return, her eyes shining insecurity. "W-well that's just dandy. Just fine and dandy. I think I'll pass."

Megatron felt there was something hidden in the awkward phrasing. But the table's attention was pulled away by Lazorbeak swooping onto the tabletop to deposit a tray, quirk her head curiously at Tweety, then alight on Soundwave's knee to watch.

Darren did not hesitate to approach the tray and sit Indian style on the smooth tabletop. "C'mon, I know you must be hungry. Probably thirsty, too." He looked up at Tweety, waiting for her to begin eating.

As everyone seemed to wait with bated breath to see Tweety's next action, she stood awkwardly with one foot stuck in front of her. Apparently she was poised to approach the meal but pride and distrust hung off her face. Megatron saw some interesting dynamics forming. Firstly, his human was insecure, and lacked trust, likely not in just them for their culture and status, but in everyone. This characteristic was no doubt found in the badlands, struggling for food on the metal desert.

Two, Darren was incredibly patient, he could see that plainly, and had some sort of practiced gentleness. Knowledge shone in the boy's eyes. Knowing of what, Megatron did not understand, *yet,* and he was curious to find out.

He was so absorbed in these thoughts that he did watch but not really register Tweety sitting down, Darren filling her cup, then she politely declining the bread of the sandwiches but requesting simply the meat and cheese. Soundwave sent him a ping, and that shook him from his revelry.

*:Is she celiac?:*

*:I believe so... Yes, yes, she is. Can she eat the meat?:*

*:As long as she's not sensitive to cross contamination, she should be fine.:*

*:Well I hope she isn't then. I remember something about that shopkeeper telling me she'd need to see a medic.:*

Again, Megatron saw the subtle lift of Soundwave's shoulders and the extra blip on his visor to indicate he was surprised. *:You do remember, master, that we culled the human gene pool of those prone to genetic disease to increase production. Since celiacs only affects those of a certain genome, we would have to assume that it has yet again replenished itself. We might need to issue another round of examinations.:*

"No, Soundwave, nonsense." Megatron spoke aloud as he straightened himself on the couch, the two humans looking up at his seemingly sudden exclamation. "There will be no need of another thinning. She's from the badlands, and so only those of the badlands will be affected. They can all get sick and die for all I care."

Soundwave straightened carefully before the irritation of Megatron, thinking carefully before he continued. "That is most likely. But what if the illegals find their way into the contained populace? What if they breed?"

Megatron's hand that had been hanging off his knee clenched. "Then, Soundwave, and only then, we will issue another culling. But I do not wish to bother with it until then; it is wasteful to try and prevent against such an improbability. What do the badlanders have to do in the camps? Nothing."

Megatron stood, pacing behind the couch. Darren had gone back to eating quietly, but Tweety watched, brow furrowed as the giant thought aloud. "What would they have to do in the cities, Soundwave? Food? Shelter? That's all that comes to mind. An uprising?" He laughed here. "Now *that* is even more improbable than the gene pool of the captive humans also reverting. Think of it, Soundwave!"

Darren was unphased as Megatron worked himself into a good guffaw and Soundwave smiled pleasantly behind his mask, but Tweety looked furious. Before Megatron could toss in another comment she rose to her feet and spun around to face him. "What do you mean it's improbable? It's incredibly likely! They're starving out there, and you think they're just going to lay down and die?"

Megatron's smile slowly faded as he regarded his excited charge. "It's not a matter of their desperation, *pet,* more so their capacity for any real damage to Decepticon rule. How will, how *could* such little organic fleshlings as yourselves dare to compete with us in battle? You don't even have your - albeit - pitiful technological advancements now. There is nothing you could do, or ever will do."

"That's a *lie!*" She snarled, pointing viciously. "There's *plenty* we could still do! We have *determination* and *desperation* on our side, and *that* is all the resources we could ever need to fight back."

He leaned down, his smile returning. "Is that so, little one? It seems as if you've already *heard* of this rebellion. Please, I am ever so interested in the details."

She crossed her arms, snorting, but her cheeks had flushed. "Even if there was one happening- th-that I *knew* about- I wouldn't be stupid enough to tell you."

His smile shifted into a frown. "Which is disappointing."

She didn't realize what was happening until she was in his grip again, startlingly close to his optics. "I believe you've forgotten the most important rule. You are mine, and always will be. I would hope you aren't holding out for this hypothetical uprising to come and free you." He smirked. "You will be sorely disappointed."

She was tossed onto the table, his words still ringing in her ears too loud to even protest. "And you've also forgotten your manners, pet. What do you address me as?"

"Master." It was automatic, her eyes distant as she looked up at him.

"Good." He turned to Soundwave. "She's still... 'rough around the edges,' as the humans say. Do you have any suggestions from your experience with Darren? I would hope one day she will be as well behaved as he is."

Darren had continued eating leisurely throughout the proceedings, and Megatron noticed again that he did a tremendous job not even flinching at the hostile air Tweety carried back to the food. Soundwave looked down at the young male, then stroked the length of his backside slowly with a digit. As soon as Darren felt contact, he paused, then leaned into the touch as the digit made his way down his neck, shoulders, and back.

"It was a matter of earning his trust, at first." Soundwave said, going for another stroke that made Darren openly smile, stretching languidly. "He was used enough to being handled, so... Perhaps it wasn't even trust. Maybe it was more of bonding with him."

"For the first few days, he was handfed. It was the same procedure I had used with all my cassettes. I took him with me everywhere, and had him within arms reach at all times. He enjoys games, tactical ones, so I made sure to keep him occupied. It was very similar to getting acquainted with all my other acquisitions. I observed him frequently, took note of his likes and dislikes, and acted accordingly to either accommodate or change his priorities."

"But what about discipline?" Megatron was quick to ask, once again seated and leaning forward on his knees. "Did he ever act out? Get unnecessarily irritable or defy you? What did you do?"

Soundwave tilted his head, thinking. "I never had any serious complications with Darren that was not solvable by simply... Depriving him of something. Taking away privileges."

"Like food?"

"No. I never took away any necessities. I learned with Ravage that a particularly stubborn student *will* out wait you on those restrictions. I'm not sure if that would be the case with Darren, but I have found other sources of deprivation good enough."

"Like what?"

"His games. Entertainment - let him sit bored for a while. I refused him showers for a week. That was not the most pleasant though, for anyone involved... I believe Rumble and Frenzy suffered the most in that incident, actually, rather than Darren, them being unaccustomed to human excretions and the ones closest to his level. But discipline was never what I highlighted most - he seems to excel under praise. Try rewarding them for good behavior. Darren loves massages after long work days, and his favorite treat is cheesecake. I know that Breakdown and Knockout take Isaac on races."

Megatron appeared thoughtful as he looked at Tweety eat sullenly, but he was doubtful. "Well, Soundwave, you are fortunate to have such a amicable human. Hopefully mine will change her attitude soon enough."

He could see the girl stiffen and shrink in on herself at his words, but otherwise, she had no response. He stood, scooping her up to her vocal dismay and nodding to Soundwave. "Thank you for your time Soundwave. I have a few things to attend to back at headquarters."

"Of course, master." The SIC stood with the gladiator, bowing. "If you require any assistance with her, I am at your beck and call."

"As you always are." Megatron clapped him on the shoulder and turned to leave, letting himself out of the loft.

Soundwave didn't need to look down to know Darren was paused with a mouthful of food, and did not wait for him to speak to answer his question. "Yes, I'm worried too. Hopefully command won't be burned down by the end of the weekend."

* * *

The human was silent on the return to Darkmount, Megatron noticed. He watched her intently as they flew over the Cybertronian landscape - her first intentions were to, apparently, pout, but that slowly changed. She was enraptured by the sprawling cityscape, distinctly Iaconian crystal towers reaching up to the dark expanse, illumination coming from below, not above. It was no doubt strange for her, he realized. Her planet's orbit around the star they referred to as the Sun offered a strong wave of high light during the daytime that was beautiful in itself. But here, just beginning to align itself with Earth's orbit, Cybertron's residents determined the day/night cycle, thus the faintly sparkling purple sheet that eyes looking heavenward found.

Megatron dropped down onto the landing deck above Darkmount out of preference, transforming and then holding the dazed girl in his palm. After confirming her presence, he marched into the bowels of the castle, eyes forward and intent.

He took his time on his way towards his preferred common room, watching his charge turn tenser and tenser with his every step further into their prolonged silence. Her temperature rose, and her pulse quickened. She looked around the halls they passed, her mouth a supple line, but jaw tight.

The doors to the lounge swung open and he paused, letting out a long vent. He dumped Tweety onto the coffee table, then exited the room. He heard her protest something, but didn't pay it any mind.

He dropped by the bathroom to pick her up a towel to nap in and grabbed himself a few datapads with his weekend reading material. He returned to the common room, only to stop at the threshold. The room felt vaguely empty. He darted to the couch, face hard. Tweety was gone.

He started to rage, throwing the towel and datapads down on the couch. *What is* wrong *with that human?* He lunged into the hallways again, but paused. *Where could the tiny thing be? The brat... I'm going to skin her for this fox chase.*

* * *

Tweety had learned many things from the badlands. She learned how to find food, shelter, and avoid detection from Cybertronians and her own kind alike. There were many things Tweety knew how to do, but accepting the alien that threw her whole world into chaos in the first place as her master wasn't one of them.

That's why, as Tweety sat on the couch after Megatron left, she was not merely slightly petulant. "You can't just leave me here!" She shouted after him, but he didn't acknowledge her. She grumbled, sitting quietly for a moment to consider her options.

Her eyes flickered for many a moment until she made a move - leaning over the edge of the couch, arms crossed, appearing unimpressed. *I can do that,* she mused. *Jumped off bigger cliffs trying to get away from those slavers.*

She stood up, again cocking her head to the side as she looked down, muttering to herself. "You can do this, you can do this..." She edged closer to the drop, pausing momentarily.

"Just better jump it." She squeezed her eyes shut, flicking them open furiously, then leaped.

She tumbled and rolled gracelessly, finally stopping in a heap with a few grunts. She stood slowly, shaking her limbs out, taking in the ground level. She nodded as she snapped to her feet. *Easy.*

She ignored the pain in her left shoulder as she jogged forward, heading for the way Megatron had come. *I'll find a way outta here if it's the last thing I do.*

As she ran with her handicap she quickly became disheartened. The shoulder seemed to get worse with every stride, jostled by her brisk job. The halls' length were overwhelming, she barely covering the distance Megatron managed in three times the time. The final problem was becoming more and more apparent as she went farther and farther and as the minutes ticked on: she was terribly lost.

She paused at a corner, leaning against a wall and panting gently. Taking her in surroundings, she looked for doorways or thresholds leading to bigger passages, assuming it would take her to the large hallway leading to command's offices. But it wasn't such a feature that caught her attention. Warm lights spilled from the doorway her eyes landed on.

She stepped towards the room cautiously, bare feet pattering softly on the metal floor as she slipped into the glow. Her eyes shone brightly, interested, taking in the dimly lit room. With a brief look behind her, she entered.

The first thing that confronted her were intense, but still eyes, a creature looking down from a pedestal. She almost screamed, until she realized that it was dead, and this must have been a trophy room. The walls were blocked with paintings and hung weapons, mounted busts and fully taxidermed figures lining a pathway through the crowded room. She shivered, taking in the vicious faces and menacing tools of war scriptuously detailed by spot lights. She contemplated turning back to her search for the exit, but something drew her here. Forcing the sudden chill in the air off, she ventured further.

It was deathly quiet - and a room of death it truly was, she noticing with horror Cybertronian specimens with the Autobrand proudly displayed on their frames. She moved past these individuals quickly, trying hard to concentrate on the soft sound of her breathing.

She paused to observe certain exhibits briefly, but only stopped when she stepped out of the shadow of an unknown monster to see the desk. The desk was large for most Cybertronians, and undoubtedly Megatron's. How much he used it was up for debate, for upon closer inspection a thick layer of dust clung to the ornate legs of the chair.

She looked around for a bit longer before she found a suitable place to climb. Stepping into a notch on the ornate chair leg, she hoisted herself up, taking her time and thinking through her steps. When the engravings ran out, she jumped onto an open cabinet ledge, peering into it's dim innards briefly. She couldn't quite make anything out, but believed she saw datapads and perhaps a container or two of refined Energon.

After several minutes she had the satisfaction of heaving herself onto the top of the desk, standing tall and peering around curiously. The first thing her eyes locked onto though startled her.

A holoframe - an older model by the looks - sat precariously at the edge next to the slight monitor and past the keyboard projector. It was dim with age, and the image was fuzzy, the faces barely recognizable. She was walking forward to it to confirm it was a much younger Megatron when she felt, rather than heard, the footsteps.

The desk shook just slightly, the tremors rapid and steady, growing bigger and bigger with each shake. She gulped, realizing Megatron was getting closer, perhaps even well aware of were she was.

On the off chance he didn't, however, she wasn't going to give up. Looking around for a place to hide, she glanced over the edge of the desk at the still open cabinet. It would have to do.

She tried to edge down the side of the tabletop lip once again as she attempted to calm her thumping heart, it's tempo as a conductor's feverish hands commanding her emotions. Those emotions seemed to seep through her spine, past her elbows, and into the already tired fingers that held her so precariously.

She slipped, tumbling all at once into the bottom drawer far below. She settled with a small crash, knocking into dusty datapads and rolling a ways. She moaned, her already protesting shoulder now practically screaming like a banshee.

She bit down on her tongue hard, tasting blood as the steps finally shook the surrounding drawer like an earthquake. She heard the hiss and groan of pistons pumping and gears spinning grow closer and closer.

It was very quiet and still, the shuffling feet growing slightly fainter and then zoning back in several times. She could not just feel the tremors or hear the movements but felt his presence - large and hungry, hunting as a predator.

It was perhaps a minute or so before he apparently turned and left, the tremors growing fainter and fainter. She let go of a breath she didn't realize she was holding, cradling her bad arm as she stood slowly and collected herself. She felt exuberant, if slightly shaken. Smiling, she looked up at the top drawer's open end to prepare to climb out.

Only she had not expected to see gleaming red optics staring down at her.

She shrieked, darting to the back of the drawer to escape from a servo that appeared. She dove underneath datapads, only for them to be tossed aside violently with a vehement growl. She tried to dodge the hand again, bolting for the front of the drawer, but he snatched her, pulling her up so fast her head spun.

She was before his face, feeling the hot exhaust blow across her body. "Think you could make a run for it, human? A brave, but pitiful attempt. Now I will have to *punish* you."

She stared up at him, paralyzed, half seeing him and half seeing water - drowning in a sink, hand around her hard and unforgiving, liquid filling her until there was no more to be filled and then some. She thought she was going to die that morning, but now she knew that this was the moment. *He's going to kill me.*

* * *

A/N: Omg. Darren's accent is horrible, I honestly don't know what to do with him, or anything or anyone, and Megatron's soft-ish-ness (does he seem soft to you? He seems soft it me) will hopefully be explained later... DX But oh well, any tips on anything and everything would be appreciated. Please let me know your thoughts and ideas for the story by leaving a review! Thanks! :)


	3. Frienemies

A/N: Hello my dearest readers! After a longer than wanted wait, I have returned! I apologize for the lack of updates in the past... how many weeks? But I had been communing with the plot, and I believe we have finally reached an agreement on where this story is going. This is my first longer piece of prose that I plan on truly sticking with, so this might take a while and it might not be the best. But all support is appreciated, including ideas! A big thank you to EVRYONE who reviewed and faved, and if I didn't respond to your review, I'm so sorry! I have been very busy trying to get this thing going and with life just ugh. You know. But thank ALL OF YOU very much! I so so appreciate it! And once again, I LOVE suggestions, so feel free to shoot them my way! :)

WARNINGS: mild violence, abuse, slavery, cursing, yada yada you get the picture.

* * *

Megatron was furious. Optics ablaze, he tried to think straight as he stood, ignoring the femme's protests. He didn't know what he was going to do, honestly - all he felt was his nerve slipping as he squeezed his servo harder and harder around the girl as her thrashing increased, sucking in desperate breaths to fill her still weak lungs.

He started forward, out of the room, so absorbed in his thoughts of just killing the girl and being done with the whole pet business that he didn't realize they were at the common room. Both he and her seemed to be waiting on his next move, her hands finding purchase on his digits to twist herself around to look up at him. Her face was terrified, mouth agape and she shrunk drastically when his optics settled on her slowly. He must have looked murderous.

He tossed her into the towel still sitting on the couch, her form shrieking as it sailed through the air. When she hit the couch - he noted with a wicked gleam in his eye - she clamped her mouth down on a more pain-oriented than fearful noise. She rocked as she held her arm, tears threatening to brim as she glanced up at him again.

He reached down, pulling the arm back and smiling with satisfaction as she threw her head back and screamed out, back arching against the pain. He twisted the appendage, tweaking her shoulder, and she begged incomprehensibly as he heard a none-too-subtle *pop*. The shoulder gave suddenly, and she gasped, bending over and wheezing her words out.

"J-just lemme go- I- I-I'm sorry, 'kay?! Just-"

She broke up again, eyes glistening as she tried to pull towards his hand holding her arm, but he just pulled back harder. "I don't think I will. I want this to be a memorable experience for you."

"You m-mean-!" She coughed violently, lungs weak from her shouting and screams, her voice rapidly turning into a rasp. "That THIS isn't enough?! Dislocating m-my sh-sh-shoulder?! What kind-"

He pulled harder, her arching her back into his hand to try and relieve some pressure. She panted, face now wet with tears and gentle sobs wracking her frame. "O-okay." She tensed up, her body trembling. "Okay! I'm done! What-... What do you w-want me to say?!"

He considered that for a moment, optics flicking to the ceiling and then around the room while giving her arm another testing tug. She screamed loudest this time, open sobs questioning him yet again on his terms. He sighed gently, the sound drowned out by her begging. *Such fragile bodies they have. Starscream would have lasted much longer.*

He let go, she stumbling in the blankets on her side. Not a second passed before she was swooped into his hand and up in his face, his hot eyes searing her puffy visage. "It's not a matter of what you say, *human.*" His voice was harder than his eyes, and loud, almost shouting. "But perhaps more of what you do. Remember that next time you decide to try and make an escapee of yourself."

He let his hand loose, this time, her form falling limply into the towel with only a strangled cry indicating she was still alive when she hit the couch with her bad shoulder. He rose, still fuming, leaving the room to fetch himself some Energon.

That left Tweety to herself, shaken to the core and still weeping. She sat up after a few minutes, testing her arm carefully only to bite on a scream. She couldn't bear to relocate it herself, and she knew Megatron wasn't going to help her. She felt helpless, sinking back down into the towel and moaning lowly.

Megatron returned sometime thereafter, still thoroughly irritated but not quite as worked up as before. He sat down, optics lingering on the still femme before leaving her to pout. He flicked on the large holo screen to a documentary channel, setting the volume low and picking up a datapad on the coffee table.

Tweety was unsure of what to do now. She felt her eyes begin to dry as she sat up slowly, propping herself up on a good elbow to stare up at Megatron. He paid her no mind, eyes locked on the datapad and not even aware she was concious.

She nearly yelled at him, anger tinging her cheeks and ears red. *How could he do that to me and then just sit there like nothing's the matter?* Her sore eyes blazed, and she jerked herself into a sitting position, steadfastly avoiding his visage and eyes locking onto the screen across the living area.

Meanwhile, Megatron smirked internally. Sneaking peeks of her while she wasn't looking, he could tell she was mad and working herself into a good pout. It did not bother him though. He settled in to wait until she was willing to submit, noting to himself that then he would allow her release from the pain in her shoulder.

It passed for a while like that, he occasionally flipping channels, Tweety eventually settling down into the towel for a bit of shut eye, her pain making her weary. Her sleep was restless, as Megatron noted her tossing and turning, hisses of pain punctuating the commentary coming from the holoscreen.

It was a couple hours later when he nudged her sleeping form awake. "Wake up. You need to refuel."

She groaned, pulling an edge of cloth over herself. "G'way. Sleepy. Hurts."

The last word was a bit unexpected. He assumed her stubborn pride would not allow her to admit to the pain her punishment inflicted, but perhaps she was beginning to soften. Or perhaps sleep had let it slip. He suspected the latter with a hum in his throat, a noise she didn't hear.

"You've been sleeping for long enough. Get up, fleshling, before I resort to twisting your shoulder again."

That caught her attention, she springing up straight away, eyes wide with a bit of panic. Her hair even more disheveled than it had been pre-nap - which he found unbelievable, it was such a rat's nets already - she stared at him before slowly shifting her gaze to the food he offered. It was more of the canned goods he had purchased from the merchant, and even though she was hungry, her mouth went dry at the sight of the mush.

"Anything but pig slop 'round here?" She asked with a flat tone, obviously sarcastic as she took the offered plate from his digits and began to resignedly shovel the sustenance into her mouth.

His digits did not move from away from her, resting on the towel in front of her crossed legs. "Sadly, no. But I will see about procuring fresher human fuel soon."

She did not apparently notice that his hand did not return to him, and he kneeled down slowly, watching her eat. He held the hand next to her very still, afraid at any moment she would notice and catch on to his intentions.

Slowly he moved his servo forward, going to touch the long dreadlocks hanging past her jowls. He fingered them softly, and she froze, eyes locking onto his. They did not betray hostility, though, merely a touch of fear from her last encounter with his servos, and perhaps curiosity.

Either way, she began eating again with only a bit of caution, watching his digit move up her head to scratch lightly at her scalp. She again froze, cocking her head into his hand, then started up eating again. He wondered what that far away look in her eye was until he heard the small hums, little moans building in her throat. She turned her head downward, pushing her crown into his reach.

*She enjoys this,* he noted, obliging her wish and using his pointed digits to carefully scratch at the base of the dreadlocks, stimulating her scalp. She munched every few moments, the food in her mouth forgotten, as she went more and more slack. He thought with a small smile that she might fall to the couch, sprawled out in bliss.

It eventually ended, though, after the entirety of her skull had been explored and appropriately stroked. She sighed, sitting back up straight again as she continued eating her food. She paid his still wandering servo no mind, his touches not sensual, but merely exploratory, she realized. *He must be getting to know his property.* She thought with a small grumble that he seemed to not notice.

He trailed over her shoulders, running the back of his digits over the skin and noting the feel. Their biology was strange, but similar to theirs, with a few organic modifications. But human skin would always be an interesting texture, this thin outer armor that seemed to only keep their innards from spilling out and nothing more. They were so delicate and fragile, something he had already become familiar with earlier while punishing the girl. His digits simply feathered over her lower arm and it left white trails of scratched skin, not piercing the surface but leaving marks.

He stole a hand from her, which she immediately tensed due the fact it was the one belonging to the bad shoulder, but after a few moments of him simply tracing the lines in her palm she calmed. He tried to feel the grooves in her fingerprints but couldn't come up with anything. His optics zoomed in to find that they in fact *were* there, as he had been told, but so microscopic in comparison to him that they were almost impossible to see, let alone feel. He huffed, she looking up at the sound as he flipped her hand over and brushed his touch over her bony knuckles.

He noted her reactions to all of this very closely - now done eating, her face merely turned down to the couch, expression practically blank. Despite her wild rearing, she seemed incredibly fine with strangers handling her in such a manner. He could not help but wonder why.

No matter the reason, the signs of her submission were enough to convince him it was time to relocate her shoulder. He carefully made his way up to the joint, and she yelped at the gentle contact he made with it. She scooted away, holding her hands over it.

"Just leave it alone." She commanded, eyes hard.

"No." He said flatly. "I will see it."

She clamped her mouth down, scooting back into the crevasse of the armrest as he cornered her, turning her body to the side so he could see the injury. The shoulder sat up and to the back, the skin around it all shades of purple and yellow, ranging from black to sickly greens.

His digits closed around the joint, and she squealed before he even applied any pressure. "Don't! Don't! Just leave it!"

She ducked out from under his servo, running to the edge of the couch. He internally sighed, thinking her not *that* stupid as to jump off the couch again. "It must be mended. Your arm is loosing circulation, which could be detrimental if left too long."

She seemed to not hear him, head jumping back and forth between him and the floor. His hands swooped in, pulling her from the edge and pinning her down in his palm before she had the chance to react. She gasped then tensed, burying her head in his arms. He sighed.

"Hold still, I will make it quick." He surprised himself by brushing over her back momentarily, trying to calm her.

She laid stock still, jumping when his fingers clasped around her shoulder once more. He took a half-breath, then pinched. He heard the *crunch* faintly, it being drowned out by her scream. She balled up on her side, cupping her hand around her shoulder but afraid to touch it. Her eyes welled up, teeth clenched in a menacing snarl.

He pulled her form into his chest carefully, stroking her sides and allowing her a moment for the pain to fade. She was resilient and recovered quickly, not surprising him. She stood up after a few minutes, eyes roving the room.

He watched her intently, until she turned back to him and held his gaze. There was no words spoken since he didn't feel the need for them and she was still a bit too sore for another quip at him. But something in her eyes was beginning to soften, he noticed. Reluctance was there, and hurt, as she laid back down, already ready for sleep. She curled up next to him, somber and quiet, breathing regulating out and she going more and more still.

* * *

At first she swore she smelled bacon. She sat upright almost instantaneously at the prospect, eyes roving her surroundings critically as her mind raced to wake from deep sleep. She was in her cage again - that dreadful cage, with the dark corners and dirty rags on the floor, empty food cans strewn about. And there was an alarming lack of bacon.

She cursed her own senses, falling back over dramatically as she whined. That canned... *something* was dreadful and if morning meant eating more she wished to sleep as long as possible.

But then she realized something had not been quite right about her cage. Pulling a rag aside to peek from the floor, she looked again. The sinister grates that held her in were gone, the door wide open.

Cautiously, with her skin prickling in excitement, she silently glided across the blankets to the entrance, peering out. When she saw no vicious grey mass, she extended one foot forward, eyes alight, but mouth taught with seriousness. She stepped over the precipice and then skipped forward, crouching as she looked around again. She saw nor felt any presence of any kind. She believed she was alone.

Her mind began spinning, tossing ideas in all directions as she turned a full circle to survey the landscape. Perhaps she could use the rags in the cage to form a rope, getting off the counter that way? She believed her shoulder could bear some climbing, and if not, she could bind it tight before attempting. How to get past the closed doors, like the one at the entrance of the bathroom that lead to Megatron's berthroom? Well, she could perhaps use a can to chuck at the sensors, binding them together to make a large enough mass to maybe get-

Here she stooped down, reaching out with her left hand to pick up the cans in question, only for her shoulder to scream out and bring her to the floor in surprise. She bit down on her tongue to keep from calling out as the pain rose and crescendoed, then tapered off to a dull throb. She panted on the floor, realizing Megatron had twisted the shoulder that she had injured jumping off the couch, making the injury doubly worse. She began to reconsider, his face seared in her eyes as she stared at the countertop.

*I'll escape when I'm better.* She told herself, rising slowly as she gripped the shoulder. It felt utterly cowardly - which made her mind roam to overwhelming feelings like helplessness and despair. She stood, dwelling in the feelings momentarily before realizing she was already loosing. How many years would she spend her life here, in this prison, in this shame?

*Enough of this!* She shook her head, turning around and going back to the cage to make a sling for her bad arm. *This is half the battle, right here. I can't think like this...*

She busied herself with binding her arm securely for the next thirty minutes or so, though it felt much longer as her internal conflict continued. And just when she felt she had gotten a hold of her emotions, she heard the *whoosh* of the door and felt the countertop shake with the gait of pedes.

Megatron's hulking form came in view, bending down to peer into the cage. "Human? Are you awake?"

She thought about ignoring him, but decided, for her shoulders sake, it best not too. "Yes, master." She almost growled out, not turning to meet his gaze and still fiddling with the sling though it was quite done.

He hummed, attention attracted to her self care. "I see you have attended to your injury. Good. We are leaving soon."

"Soon?" She turned to him now, leaning forward. "How soon? Where?"

"We are going to headquarters. It is the beginning of the work week."

"But it was Saturday." She blurted, blinking rapidly. "Yesterday was Saturday."

He chuckled, not a warm sound. "No, yesterday was *Sunday*, as you humans call it. The day you were awake *was* Saturday."

She started, eyes wide. "You mean I slept a full *twenty-four hours?* And you didn't wake me?"

His optics slitted, incredulous. "Aren't you *thankful* I didn't wake you? I could have made your obviously worn out little body polish my armor or dust my shelves, ungrateful rat. Get out here. I need to dress you."

He disappeared from view, pedes taking him away from the island countertop. She was confused, but realized it didn't really matter. Was she really that tired? Her breaths felt less labored, normal even - perhaps she had finally recovered.

Leaving the thoughts alone she stepped out of the cage again, looking over her strange make-shift garb. Megatron came back, his hands reaching under her to scoop her up and hand her different clothes. "I had a maid bring these this weekend. We will find you more at a later date."

He handed her a simple t-shirt and jeans, with modest panties. She was quite satisfied even though the jeans were rather large around her thin waist after she had pulled them on. She salvaged a thin strip from the polishing cloth to make a belt.

A few minutes later after she had scrubbed her face and Megatron had returned for her he scooped her up without warning, something that was beginning to grate on her nerves. She wanted to say something but was silence when he began to march out of the building with purpose, going down the long hallways he had taken her when she had seen Soundwave. Through the skylights in the ceilings, though, she saw a different scene than on the weekend: seekers flying in formation, cargo ships in the upper stratosphere, with their bellies shining from the distant sun's light. It was only when the spectacles were out of sight did she turn her attention back to her immediate surroundings.

When Megatron opened the doors to Command, the gentle noise that had been building suddenly came to full force. Seeker squads and grounder teams marched through the halls, a constant chatter residing against the walls as bored soldiers and staff loitered in groups. Occasionally a Cybertronian would dart past, most often heading towards the center of the building, which was where they were also heading.

All mechs bowed when they caught sight of Megatron, but some mechs greeted him with a hail and others kept their distance. The air Tweety perceived was just as obvious to her as to the other Cybertronians: Megatron was no force to trifle with.

A great set of double doors were opened by guards once they reached the main lobby, and the noise intensified. Inside the main hall levels bustled with varying activity - the lower levels were reserved for slave classes and day workers, and above, it graduated into the clerks and enforcers, leading up to the Command deck. There were already many mechs waiting there, one particular pitch rising up above the bustle, heard clearly.

A resounding *"All Hail Megatron!"* echoed through the room, and then Megatron began to ascend. Discreet stares and even some open gawking were sent after his wake, all landing on the small form sitting in his palm. Whispers and chatter wafted all the way to and then stopped at the highest deck, the officers and soldiers standing attentively. Once Megatron finished his climb, he stood for a moment, holding his possession openly. Tweety felt awkward, so scrutinized, apparently everyone here having foreknowledge of her arrival.

Starscream - or whom she believed was Starscream, a grey seeker, the one with the screechy voice she heard from the bottom floor - slinked forward and then folded his hands, eyes squinted. "So this is the new acquisition I heard *so* much about from Soundwave. How intriguing."

No other comments were forthcoming, and the top floor was awkwardly quiet for a moment. Starscream, and in turn then the other officers present, waited expectantly for Megatron's response. Tweety was unsure if it was coming until she felt her master shift his weight. "No snappy remark, Starscream? I am surprised. There isn't too many days you aren't able to sneak in at least a single quip in your morning's greetings. I take it as a blessing."

The seeker stiffened. "Well why would I discourage this development?" He bristled, his gaze sliding away in a gentle eye roll. "It's time you got with the trend - you were becoming old-fashioned."

A snicker or two was heard in the present company, but Megatron did not rise to the bait, simply stalking away towards a throne at the center of the table. "Eager to get on with the debates, Starscream? Fine. Let's get this over with."

Tweety was set onto the table top in front of Megatron, her eyes darting to and fro at the seating giants before her. But Starscream was critical, staring her down as if with disgust. "Really, master? *Must* that rat stay on the tabletop? Per *your requests,* we keep all of *our* pets in the pen, over *there.*"

Tweety could not see what 'there' looked like due to her low vantage point, but after a cursory glance Megatron apparently deemed it suitable. "Then take her there, Starscream."

The seeker looked uncertain whether to be appalled or mildly miffed, but regardless snatched Tweety up roughly, stalked over to the pen in three swift strides, deposited her, and returned the to the briefing without a backwards glance.

Tweety sat on the ground after being practically dropped down, more than somewhat dazed. She looked after the seeker through the strange field surrounding her, which she knew must have been charged with electricity. "Ass-hat." She muttered, standing to her feet and brushing off her pants.

Though, as she attended to herself, she soon felt alarmingly un-alone. Turning around, she was greeted with more than a dozen pairs of round, shining eyes - eyes, not optics, shimmering and wet with organic material, like her own. This assembly of humans regarded her with general suspicion, flocked around her, but keeping their distance. Her eyes met each of them, skins from dark to light, women and men and even smaller children staring right back at her. She wanted to shrink with the commotion of Decepticon Command behind her and these strangers in front of her, but didn't allow herself. Standing tall, she waited for one of them to make the first move.

A teenage male, perhaps a year or two younger than her, stepped forward. His grey eyes and blonde hair were striking, his features soft. But the sneer on his face was anything but inviting. He stood with his arms crossed, shifting his eyes up and down her, then spoke loud and clear, his voice melodious. "So, *this* is what Lord Megatron decided to pick up. I think Starscream's right. He has to be loosing it."

Before Tweety could respond, a slightly heavy female younger than him and stepped up only to be pushed aside by another boy. The the thick head of dark hair made her recognize him instantly: Darren.

"Why don't you leave her alone, Marcus, if not for her sake then ours. Did it cross your mind that she'll take whatever you say back to her master?"

This Marcus seemed unfazed, striding up to stand chest to chest with Darren. "Oh, Darren," he began, gaze off to the side, eyes flicking to and fro dramatically. "It appears you are adopting the same affection for our Lord from your master. Why else would you be defending the badlander? We both know she doesn't *matter.* Megatron had to be desperate to buy that mutt - he knew he needed to get with the game."

With this, the blonde boy tossed a pointed look to Tweety, eyes hard. "But perhaps, my fellow pets, Darren is right - this one is not to be trusted." He skittered away back into the fold of his companions, leaving Darren standing alone and sliding up next to an older girl. He whispered just loud enough for Tweety to catch. "My suggestion would be to stay away from her, just to be safe - she's probably got mange, anyways. Wouldn't want that, would we?"

He wandered back into the crowd and out of sight, going to stand next to the oldest man of the group and the chubby girl that had tried to approach him earlier. The small crowd now dispersed, as well, to anywhere but where Tweety stood. She had several people cast her menacing glances, and saw too that Darren was now receiving similar treatment. In a few moments it was just him and her standing at the fence, an awkward distance between them.

Darren approached first, his eyes glued to the floor and looking up at her nervously with every few words. "So, sorry about that... They're quite the nervous bunch, you see? Not too often we get a new pet, and we've never had one that belonged to Megatron."

Tweety didn't know how to answer - questions crowded around her tongue, demanding to be asked, but all she managed was a dumb: "That's okay."

Darren smiled weakly, glancing over the rim of his large black hoodie to check on the others again. He was still met with angry and distrustful stares, so shrugged, turning back to her. "I'm sure we'll be able to change their minds soon enough."

Then, an awkward silence stretched on long after Tweety became uncomfortable. Darren shuffled his shoes and straightened his sweat jacket once or twice, turning to take in the pen next to her. "So..." He finally began, clearing his throat. "You want a little tour?"

She almost winced, wanting nothing more than to go curl up in a corner and sleep the rest of the morning away. "The brief version?"

He smiled at her, warm and genuine, grabbing her hand unexpectedly. "The brief version, promise."

He led her by the hand, continuing to follow the fence to avoid the others. Once at the other end of the hundred or so foot pen, he plopped down in a mess of pillows and blankets, books and mini datapads strewn about. "Come, sit, sit." He waved her forward, patting the space next to him.

Any other pets that were nearby beelined to a more comfortable distance, leaving the two quite alone. Tweety sat down, careful to observe so as not to crush one of the datapads. She continued to look around, her wide eyes never still. Darren watched her for a moment, unsure of what to say.

"I'm sure it's all overwhelming." He began, pausing awkwardly once her attention was back on him. He coughed lightly, looking away and thinking. "I didn't really have a problem with fitting in, really, because I *was* bred. Almost everyone here is, or at least legal. One of the only who was born legal and not bred is Marcus, who you just met."

"The jerk?" Tweety asked, her eyes almost ablaze. "What's his problem?"

Darren looked at her and shrugged, glancing over at the blonde boy and his posse a distance away. "I don't completely know his story, really. What's important is that you need to stay away from him, and Poppy and Trystan too. Those are the two he's sitting with. They belong to the seekers, and they have power because of it - and they know it. Rank amongst us correlates closely to the rank of your owner. But, that rule usually doesn't apply to noobs. So until you establish yourself and understand our hierarchy fully, it be best you lay low."

Tweety didn't respond, staring distantly at the seeker's humans, gathered together and glaring at anyone that came too close. The girl, Poppy, was pretty, despite her extra weight, and the middle aged man, Trystan, appeared laid back, the low sound of gentle music beginning after he picked up a guitar laying next to him. Tweety eventually tired of observing the group, though. *For all I care, they can rot in hell.*

She laid back in the blankets, eyes on the high ceiling. It seemed so far away, laying down and looking up at it, perhaps miles high. "How many pets are there here?"

Darren seemed a bit startled by the question, jumping next to her and then fumbling for an answer. "Well, oh, I think there's about... twenty of us or so last we counted. Most of us belong to officers or generals that are directly in Command, but there's a few here who belong to managers and heads that run various divisions of government... But we're not the only ones in the city, that's for sure. This is just who shows up here on a regular basis."

Tweety laid an arm across her chest, fiddling with a dirty dreadlock that hung low. "So? What do you do around here while the bigwigs duke it out?" The shouts of Megatron and Starscream could already be heard, with the occasional punctuation of Shockwave's calmer and more dignified interjections.

Darren laid on his stomach next to her, holding a datapad and scrolling carefully. "Read. Study. Sometimes Soundwave pings me during a meeting and then I've got something important to do..." He trailed off here, apparently becoming lost in something he was reading momentarily but then continuing. "But, yeah, mostly just goof off."

Tweety didn't ask anymore questions after that, the silence between them welcome now. She knew exhaustion - both physical and emotional - would take her soon, and she wouldn't be thinking about how bored she was, but rather dreaming about it.


	4. Medical Squeemery

**(IMPORTANT!)** A/N: Hello all! I am sorry that these chapters aren't getting out as fast as I originally thought they would be. I've felt so bad about it that I'm just going to release a smaller chapter because at least that's something. To be honest, I'm gonna have a heart to heart with you guys: it's not so much that I've had no muse for the story (actually, I've had no muse for writing in general,) it's more that this story itself is kinda hard to write because it's so depressing to me. I've already seen the end of it, and I don't want to make spoilers, but this entire thing is sorta bittersweet. Transformers, at its core, really is a sad story, no matter what continuity. The entire plot is always about _war,_ and in this universe, entire planets have been lost, the bad guys won, and everything is rather shitty for everyone who's not a Decepticon. I'm a rather emotional little flower, so if sometimes I'm not too snappy about the updates, I apologize. I think I'm actually getting a little more from this story than what I originally bargained for, emotions-wise, at least. But, in the next chapter, I do believe things will get at least a little more sunny if just for a moment.

But, I _do_ have _good_ news! You see those fancy italics in the last sentence? Yes! Thanks to iOS 9 allowing me to upload MS Word docs from Dropbox to FanFiction, you will be getting _this_ instead of *this* from now on! Woohoo! :D

P.S.: I am so tired, so this has _not_ been proofread. I apologize for any spelling or grammar errors. This is fanfiction, so I am completely un-serious about it.

WARNINGS: dark themes, abuse, slavery, nudity, medical squeemery (if that makes any sense?)

* * *

The day rolled on rather boringly. Tweety most certainly napped through most of it, including lunch, but her sleep was frequently if briefly disturbed. Her cough seemed to be coming back, making her uncomfortable in any position except propped up. She saw nothing of any Transformers, and not of anyone except the the brief glimpses of her noisy neighbors. It seemed the other humans soon got over their apparent distrust of her or perhaps found her unassuming in rest. They crowded around her, loud conversation and chatter assaulting her ears and making it doubly hard to rest. No matter how much sleep she got, it seemed it just wasn't enough, which she attributed to the infection.

Many hours later, though, she felt the ground shift beneath her in a pattern that was rapidly becoming familiar. She opened her eyes, all other humans suddenly gone, Megatron's long shadow hiding her from the lights.

"Come, human. It's time we leave." His booming voice shook the last bits of sleep out of her, and as she stood up she had the distinct feeling he had wanted everyone, or at least _someone_ nearby to hear that. She resisted the urge to turn around and see if Darren had returned; he had not been there some hours ago when she woke long enough to check on him, and had not been seen since. She assumed Soundwave had given him a task, and she had wondered longingly if it took him outside the pens, perhaps without his Cybertronian master. Maybe he walked the halls into the back rooms of the archives, maybe he even walked the city by himself. Her fitful sleep had been made content with thoughts of what she could do with such freedom. She imagined herself gaining the trust of her masters, somehow, then wandering astray on an errand, finding her way out of the city. Finding her way off the _planet._

Mood vastly improved by these thoughts, she wandered into Megatron's hand amicably. He lifted her up and proceeded on his way, she swaying slightly with his steps and her breaths coming short from the exertion. "Where are we going?" She asked.

She thought for a moment or two he wasn't going to answer her, but then he said as they approached some side doors down a hallway, "To a doctor. I have set an appointment to assure you are recovering."

Her eyes narrowed, immediately wary. "Oh really? Some _more_ pervs' to poke and prod on me?"

He humphed, his eyes flicking to her momentarily then back ahead of him as he entered a multilevel training room, heading towards the stairs to the flight deck. Transforming, he took off, she buckled tightly into the cabin. She coughed a few times, breaths coming labored as the minutes ticked my.

The hustle and bustle in the small practice was the same as in Command, except smaller spaces made it seem more crowded. Tweety jostled awake from Megatron's transforming, having fallen back asleep during the brief flight.

Megatron made a bee-line for a small examination room, ignoring the stares sent from waiting patients. He sat Tweety on the table, and took his own seat, waiting silently. It all seemed very abrupt to her, which was startling. One moment she seemed to be sleeping quietly in Command, and the next she was sitting here in this room with muffled noise. Her mind felt like it was struggling with colossal weights when putting thoughts together.

Minutes passed before the door cracked open. A very average looking merch entered, with red optics and chrome and yellow paint. His eyes twitched from Tweety to Megatron before bowing, holding a small datapad to his chest primly. "It is good to see you again, Lord Megatron."

Megatron nodded, arms crossed and his foot propped over his knee. "She seems to be coughing again, and has been sleeping frequently."

The doctor nodded, spectacles popping from his helm to slide over his optics as he scribbled meticulously. "Any other symptoms?"

"Not that I am aware of."

"Then good. And she has gone through all of her antibiotics?"

"Yes, but she missed yesterday's dose."

"Hmm. That is likely the problem."

 _Are they really going to just sit there and talk like I'm not even here?_ Tweety fumed, swaying slightly as a bout of dizziness overtook her. She slapped her hands down on the examination table to steady herself. The doctor looked up, then glanced back down at his notes as he approached. Tweety felt herself gulp loudly, trying hard to focus on his face.

"How old are you?" He didn't look up from his notes but paused, waiting for an answer.

Tweety hesitated for the briefest moment, and saw Megatron lean forward out of the corner of her eye, listening. "Sixteen."

He scribbled, then paused again. "Have you ever had any surgeries or medical procedures?"

She went to shake her head but stopped, biting her lip. The doctor looked up and set a hand to his hip, both Megatron and him now openly staring. She let her eyes flick everywhere but them and thought her answer through.

"Are you not… sure?" The doctor asked, the barest hint of incredulousness invading his dead-panned demeanor.

"W-well," she stopped, a hand going over her stomach, clutching and stroking. "I-I don't have my uterus."

The entire room paused, Megatron unmoving and the doctor blinking momentarily. "By whom?" But something in his tone told him he wasn't asking for his benefit but rather Megatron's; he already knew the answer, but the High Lord did not.

"Sl-slavers." She replied, stone-faced.

"I see." He jotted on the datapad briefly, then looked back up. "And you are highly sensitive to gluten? Celiac?"

She nodded, seeming distant, a hand rubbing her arm. The doctor looked up again, and watched her. "Human." He addressed her, and she looked up from her reverie.

"Is there anything else about your medical history that's important to let us know?"

She paused, then shook her head, eyes drifting to the medical table.

"Alright." The doctor sighed the word out, lifting a strange stethoscope rom his subspace. "I will listen to her breathing and take a few more vitals, refill her prescription, and you can be on your way if that is all for today, m'lord?"

Megatron nodded, settling back with a contemplative look as he observed his little lost-looking human.

* * *

They never returned to Command that day. The doctor, who Tweety later learned was called Vitalsign, recommended her being taken home for rest. Megatron seemed eager to head back to his estate, so she felt he was not bothered by the short work day.

She stood in the same living room he had twisted her arm in, taking a long drag off her new inhaler as she looked around atop the coffee table. Megatron had left as soon as he had set her down, leaving her unsure of what to do with herself.

As she settled onto the countertop with some towels he had left her, preparing for a nice nap, she heard approaching footsteps that were most definitely not belonging to her master. She sat up, watching a young femme come around the corner and stop, locking stares with the human.

She was pretty - yellow optics popping out of her thin face, rose-hued decals trimming her baby-blue frame. She had a small bag slung over her shoulder, cleaning supplies and other like poking from the top. Tweety instantly recognized this must be a maid - something she had not considered Megatron might have before, but it made sense.

The maid suddenly beamed, eyes brightening to small Suns as she approached Tweety step by step. Her gait was careful and calculated, just as if she was approaching a small bird. Tweety felt her eyes get bigger and bigger as the curious femme approached, until she crouched down at the table and came face to face with her bright countenance. Looking into her optics, Tweety realized that - for the first time since coming to this planet - she was meeting someone that could never be able to bring themselves to hurt her, or anyone for that matter.

"Hello." She whispered, a hand peeking up from the floor to shyly wave. "I'm Rosegold. Your Megatron's new human, right?"

Tweety paused, nodding, an actual smile gracing her features. "Y-yeah. That's what everyone keeps calling me, at least."

The femme laughed: bright and golden, just like her happy optics and her name. She shook her head, and Tweety was positively enraptured by those bright eyes. "Yes, I know he's had you for only a few days… Probably a big change, isn't it?"

Tweety immediately wanted to bark out her usual obscene remarks, but held her tongue. Something about the femme was immensely placating, such a calm spirit she was. So Tweety just nodded with the subtle hint of dark thoughts in her eyes.

Rosegold nodded too, glancing over her shoulder to the approaching sounds of Megatron's pedesteps. She stood, hands latched at her front, bowing when the mech came into sight. Megatron looked surprised to see the femme there, but nodded in her direction, setting his cube down next to Tweety and observing the two.

"So I see, Rosegold, that you have met my new pet." Something like a smirk appeared on his face. Tweety would have loved nothing more than to wipe it off.

But Rosegold appeared nonplussed, nodding politely. "Yes, m'lord. You have a chose a fine new possession. I believe she will reflect your grand estate well." Tweety looked up, noting how well the femme composed herself. How long had she been doing this? And did she really believe what was coming out of her mouth?

Megatron nodded slowly, turning to raise the shades on a window with a remote on the table. "Yes, in a few months, perhaps. At this point I am rather unprepared to let the rabble in public for fear of her… _feral_ attitude."

The femme chuckled, looking down at the human and letting a digit stroke her hair as she spoke to Megatron. "Oh, well that's hard to believe… She seems quite docile to me…"

Megatron looked over his shoulder, a brow quirked. "Really? She hasn't snipped at you yet?"

Rosegold looked up from the flustered Tweety, trying desperately to get out from under the affectionate femme's hand. "Oh, not at all, m'lord. She has been the picture of innocence."

Megatron hummed, a servo reaching up to hold his jaw in contemplation. "Then perhaps, tomorrow, you could take her to buy some necessities… Their clothes and such. If you believe you could handle her?"

The femme curtsied. "It would be my honor, m'lord."

Megatron nodded, scooping Tweety up and making for his bedroom. "I will retire for the evening, Rosegold. You may leave when you are done."

Tweety saw the femme curtsy yet again as the mech left, shutting his bedroom door behind him.

Then they were alone, and all was quiet. Megatron looked down at Tweety, her cheeks flushed, trepidation written on her features. A digit rose up to stroke down the length of her spine, something he vaguely remembered seeing Soundwave do to Darren. But she flinched away, disrupting that familiar image, anger written on her features. Yes, he was right. It was going to take a long time before she was docile and tame, sitting quietly like the accessory she was.

He walked to his sink, thinking over his pet carefully. So she had been apprehended by badland slavers at one point? How did she escape? And most relevant, could she escape _here_ in a similar manner? He doubted it; his home world's forces were much more serious than those on Earth. Escaping from the vermin out in the wild was an entirely different matter than running away from him. _No,_ he assured himself, _she is trapped here._

He reached forward and ran the faucet in his sink, setting her down on the counter and again locking eyes with the small human. She sat on her haunches, pulling her knees under her chin and wrapping her arms around herself. She looked so small. _And she is, such a runt._

And then suddenly he found himself questioning everything about this whole endeavor: why did he even _want_ 'such a runt'? She was mouthy, unruly, and disgusting. What use did he have for her? What _really_ drove him to that pet shop just a few days ago? And what kept him from just drowning her irritating comebacks down a waste disposal as the shop owner had suggested?

He reached forward, again testing her limits as he brushed down her back. She held his gaze defiantly as she scooted out of the reach of the finger. His hand rested on the counter behind her, his thoughtful face unchanged. For some reason her small rebellions seemed to be bothering him less and less.

When the sink was full enough for her bath he began to toy her clothes off, starting with her shirt. She was again somewhat bashful but got over it quickly, allowing his fingers to gently pull the fabric over her head and off her arms. The limbs shot back down to cover herself as soon as she was loose from the garment, though.

She stood up and decided she would take care of her own pants, pulling her underwear off in the same motion. He cocked his head, actually giving her an appropriate once-over. The words slipped out before he could stop them. "I'm sure your own race finds you rather attractive, even when your thin protoform clings to your subframe."

She had turned to the tub but spun her head around, mouth open in shock. "Why, I should-" But she never got the chance to finish her retort as his digit pushed her over the lip of the sink.

He smiled, holding a hand in the water for her to perch upon. She swam with a limp, only her uninjured shoulder working. She muttered with each stroke, crawling onto the warm armor and crossing her arms. He then began his task, scrubbing away the day's filth from her skin and hair, watching her behavior.

He was seeing improvement in his pet, though. She sat obediently and unafraid, letting him even touch her face and wipe over her stomach, something she had had aversions too her first bathing. And then, he suddenly realized why: a thin scar over her lower abdomen, right above her naval, was almost impossible to see amongst the various cuts and scraps she had earned over the years in her wild adventures. She didn't let him linger there long though when she saw his cryptic face. "Give me some soap for my hair," she demanded, holding her hands out. He started a bit, then reached for the cleaning solution, squeezing a drop into her palms. It spilled out over the edges of her spindly pruning fingers.

She apparently didn't want him to touch her dreadlocks, massaging the soap into her scalp around the tangled ropes with her one good arm. He watched her close her eyes, enjoying her own ministrations. Her arms, one up in the air and open for him to see, were like those of a tree in famine, knobby elbows and comparatively enormous hands. Her skin was scarred here too, and flaked in places.

He eventually lifted a handful of water and let it slide over her head, and she sputtered only slightly at the intrusion before signing. She titled her scalp up, smoothing her hands over her hair as the water carried the suds away. When the flow stopped, she cracked her eyes open, giving him a sleepy sideways glance. So large and sunken they were, and he almost believed for a moment that she was a ghost.

He reached for a towel, suddenly uncomfortable with the all this evidence of her what she had been through.

* * *

She slept with the cage open again that night, waiting until the bathroom door closed before she cracked her eyes open. She was wide awake, and knew she wouldn't be getting to sleep anytime soon.

She propped up with her good arm and looked around in the darkness. Her stomach was full and the unknown of Darkmount called her. Though, she was still wary after her last punishment from wandering off, so stayed where she was, staring up at the ceiling of her cage.

Home called sweetly, but she didn't quite know why. What good memories did she ever have there? None, she could recall. What stood out was slavers and starvation, staring longingly into energon mining camps whenever she got brave enough to get close. She could _smell_ the food over the scent of the fuel, and it was almost powerful enough to draw her towards the gates to surrender to the guards a time or two. And despite all of her struggle, she had been captured, regardless. Sent to the heart of her planet's misery, in fact.

And now, warm and well fed, she could not help but feel confused. Her heart ached for things she had never experienced and places she felt she had never seen - or had she? And that question lulled her to sleep, making her rest fitful and the night endless.

Where did she belong?


	5. All That Is Dread-Full

A/N: I'm so sorry for the delays, but I worked extra, extra hard on this chapter for all y'all. I hope things are getting more and more interesting as we go along, and I think this chapter really starts to pick up some important plot points. This is the first 'book,' so I'm having a bit of an adventure. Thank you all so much for your interest and kind reviews - it really keeps me wanting to come back to this every spare moment I have.

Enjoy!

P.S. Blame the pun-y chapter title (and any and all mistakes, even though I sorta kinda proofread this) to my insomniac, party-life-with-friend-on-other-side-of-world-very-scary-not-maybe exhausted mind.

WARNINGS: dark themes, violence, nudity, slavery, heavy abuse.

* * *

As soon as she woke she knew something was out of order. She crawled up, pushing her dreads behind her ears as she listened, giving the air a quick sniff. She could not smell the distinctive stale aroma of her canned foods, and could not hear the rumbles of Megatron moving about in the other rooms. It was the first time she felt truly alone while here.

Crawling out from her cage, she stood straight and swiveled her head. Taking in the bathroom, she suddenly realized that what was so wrong was the time: it felt much later in the day than when she woke up yesterday, perhaps already four or five hours into the daytime. She was surprised Megatron didn't even come jostle her cage or holler at her to get ready by now. And, due to his apparent absence, she wondered if he had simply left her in Darkmount all by herself.

She guessed it wouldn't be too far of a stretch - he was technically a two-minute walk away. Perhaps he had programmed his security system to notify him of when she left the premise. She frowned; finally away from the tyrant, but still not out of his reach.

With those thoughts, she plopped back down onto the countertop. She eyed a can for a moment then took it in her good hand, eyeing it with a grumble. She would much rather starve than eat more of the processed slop, but knew she could eat her share now or when Megatron returned home have it and five times more forced down her throat.

Cracking the can open, she didn't even bother giving it a speculative sniff and shoved a finger full past her lips, smacking loudly as she worked the mush into a slimy paste and swallowed. _I've got run of the place, anyways,_ she thought, _so why not?_

She got a few more mouthfuls in before she felt slight tremors, the pattern soft and gentle, and vaguely familiar. She had just recently felt these steps but was uncertain who it actually was.

Coming around the corner was the feminine figure of Rosegold. She stood in the doorway, smiling brightly when she caught sight of Tweety. "So your awake."

The air suddenly changed, and Tweety felt the ecstasy in Rosegold's eyes filling her own up as well. The crook of the maid's smile was a tad bit mischievous, and she held her hands in front of her perhaps a bit too innocently. "Are you ready to go shopping?" She said just a few decibels lower than was necessary.

Tweety grinned, genuine delight appearing on her face. "Yes."

* * *

Rosegold waited patiently for Tweety to get ready, leaving to give the mansion one final sweep before they left. Tweety could not help but watch the way this young maid was so attentive, and seemingly unafraid of her powerful employer. Respect was slowly growing towards her unlikely new friend. Most Cybertronians she had ever made acquaintance with had been met with an upturned nose, or perhaps even smoldering eyes. But Rosegold seemed so different to Tweety, and she had to wonder why.

When they stepped out of Decepticon Command - Tweety noticing how the maid seemed to have avoided the noisy conference room - the maid took a long inhale, her golden optics flicking to and fro and her head darting around the open space. "So, where to first, my mistress?"

Tweety was turning to face the femme to discuss the town's layout before she started, halting momentarily. When she did turn her eyes were a tad incredulous. _"My mistress?_ You do know that I'm just a pet and not the duchess of Megatron's estate, don't you?"

She knew that some people might have been offended by her patronizing and somewhat irritated tone. But the bright femme merely smiled, tilting her head to the side playfully. "Oh, but I like to pretend, y'know? Though Tweety is an interesting name, even for a human, I think _mistress_ brings us into a world full of scheming politicians and lords and ladies, drama-filled action… Oh it just makes me giddy thinking about it!"

"So you… Like Victorian era culture?" Tweety twisted a dread in her hand as she inquired.

"Yes! I do." Rosegold smiled even brighter, her optics flooding with unadulterated glee as she set off down the street.

"But you do know that we are already live in a world full of scheming politicians who definitely lord over everyone and everything their unlimited power?"

The femme's face faltered slightly, but not her gait, and the expression changed for merely a moment before her face was back to it's normal shining self. She looked down at Tweety with a small smile. "That's why I think it's most important to pretend, _my mistress."_

Tweety shot a half-hearted smile back to the maid. But the femme's face darkened just a tad, sending her a careful message. "But, for your sake, my lady, do not disturb the public's so carefully curated opinion. Especially so close to our beloved masters."

* * *

The human had never been to the bustling street markets of Iacon's downtown. She had never seen anything of downtown, actually. The shipment she was sent from Earth in was taken to a warehouse at the Transport Sector, where also lay a permanent space station with the space-bridge and ship docks. She awoke briefly when they had arrived, and when she regained consciousness again after being sedated once more, she was in the pet shop.

The thoughts gave her some violent shivers that she was careful to conceal from Rosegold. They had already been to the pet store and acquired her some basic clothes and supplies, but it appears the maid was given further instruction that Tweety hadn't heard. They hadn't spoken since they left the higher-class shopping centers, but the girl hadn't felt the need to ask where the maid was taking her. She sat in her palm relaxed, completely at ease with the femme.

The street market was not necessarily calming, either, which spoke more volumes of Tweety's trust in Rosegold. Cybertronians shouted native and foreign tongues alike, French, Iaconian, Japanese, Kaonite, Bulgarian, and more being launched into the shifting air of the streets. Tweety knew that many earth-stationed Decepticons had adopted favorite languages and dialects while in their time at war, and the habits were eagerly mimicked by the public. _Those poor, brainwashed refugees,_ she almost spoke aloud, but remembered Rosegold's sage advice at the last moment. _Serving the very people who destroyed their planet and mine in the first place._

Her attention was returned to Rosegold when she suddenly stopped, a small clamor just beginning to be distinct over the rest of the market's noise. She squinted, listening, and suddenly her eyes widened, and she turned back towards the way they came. "We will take another route. It will be quicker."

Tweety sat up, grabbing ahold of her thumb. "Rosie? What's going on?"

The young maid barely flicked her optics to the girl before returning to the road ahead. Her lips were smiling, but her eyes still looked spooked. "Nothing. It will just be quicker if-"

"Rosegold. What's going on? I saw your fa-"

But Tweety didn't get to finish. Both were startled by the onrushing crowds coming towards them, pushing them backwards as the flow in the street suddenly changed. No longer were there various channels and currents of walkers, only one single river, and the femme risked getting trampled if she didn't follow the same course. So, with a grimace, she did, her eyes still darting over tall mechs and exuberant femmes as she tried to find a way out.

She jumped and skipped to the sides, trying to head for alleyways, but in a matter of moments the spectacle drawing the citizens was within proper earshot. Tweety heard cursing in an old Iaconian dialect, punctuated by the lower shouts and groans of a distinctly robotic voice. In fact, they - or perhaps even _it,_ she wasn't even sure - weren't even speaking a language she had ever heard. Beeps, whines and low whistles occasionally cried out, occasionally an angry sounding gurgle being met with more of the curses.

She and Rosegold stopped near the edge of the crowd, pushed forward by eager onlookers. Some were calling for 'the slave to learn his lesson' and for someone to 'hit harder!' But overall, the crowd was suddenly covered by a blanket of intense quiet, everyone watching the small yellow mech with tattered Autobot insignias being beaten by a shop keeper.

Tweety could not help but being transfixed. Her view was slightly disrupted by a shorter mech standing in front of Rosegold, but the human slid forward over her palm to see the Autobot fully. A morbid fascination forced her to see, to know; she had always heard of the Autobot slaves, but had never seen them with her own eyes.

The shopkeeper was a burly man, towering over the yellow mech and holding his fists clenched, spitting out insults and reprimands in rapid fire succession. The Autobot, though laying on the ground, would just once in a while antagonize his master further, leading to another round of punishment. She knew what neither of them were saying in their respective languages, but she knew something in the masked face of the yellow soldier's countenance was… off.

Her face twisted and she stared for the longest period of time, no longer interested in their duel but rather just the young Autobot himself. Something was painstakingly familiar about the bot, and she soaked up as much of him as possible, for she knew Rosegold would soon come out of her horror-induced stupor and take them from here. She now knew why she had turned around so quickly - she had not wanted Tweety to see another slave beaten, and even though she appreciated her intentions, it actually felt unnecessary. It was nothing she had not seen before; merely different people in a different place.

And then, when the shopkeeper began regarding the crowd in some massive gesture, the Autobot turned to follow his gaze. And that was when his and Tweety's optics met. His lingered as hers did, with the same puzzled expression until something in those bright blue orbs clicked. They brightened intensely as the man turned back to him with his fists raised for a strike, screaming incomprehensibly. And they were still locked with hers when she swore she saw a smile in them before he was assaulted by his master yet again.

Fist connected with helm, and suddenly, everything was deathly quiet when the yellow mech slumped to the floor and didn't move. Tweety held her breath, but waited. The shopkeeper almost looked embarrassed as the same expressions rippled across the surrounding crowds. He leaned down, checking his pulse, and his optics lit up brightly before settling back down to their neutral yellow, a hue similar to Rosegold's. He turned and spoke loudly in the same dialect, but the sudden release of tension in the air told Tweety that the yellow mech was in fact not dead, but merely knocked unconscious.

As the crowds began to dissipate, Rosegold's sudden movements disoriented Tweety as she rushed and shoved through the reforming tides. She didn't even meet Tweety's stare and the girl suddenly felt rude continuing to look on, so she averted her gaze and waited silently. A minute passed by after they had set off on their way again before Rosegold opened her mouth to speak.

"I am terribly sorry you had to see that," she began, and Tweety realized she had several minutes of apology ready for her human charge by the length of her inhale. "That was completely wrong for me to allow. I should have remembered that this sector would no doubt have scuffles such as that one waiting for us when we arrived - it was completely stupid of me to-"

Tweety laughed, and the maid looked down, surprised. "Y-you really think it… like, bothered me that bad?" The girl's voice was quiet, and she seemed unsure what to say by her darting eyes and fiddling fingers. "I… I've seen that before. I don't come from a nice place, Rosie. You don't need to feel so bad."

The maid's eyes looked confused and curious while her expression remained polite, but Tweety knew she was brimming with questions. And she continued to let her brim, making no move to explain.

The maid eventually let go of her curiosities, settling for a light huff and moving the conversation on. "Do you know why we came here in the first place, my mistress?"

The almost rolled her eyes at the maid's continued use of Victorian honorifics, but simply settled back into her palm once more with a sigh. She scratched around her dreadlocks for a moment before shaking her head in the negatory. "Nope, I don't."

Suddenly removing their persons from the main flow of shoppers, she stepped up to a small vendor's stall gingerly. "Pickup for Rosegold, please sir." The man behind the counter eyed her momentarily, then his eyes settled on Tweety. Rosegold, smiling nonchalantly, set the girl upon her shoulder for the man to have a better view. He pursed his lips, rising out of his chair and setting the paper he had been reading aside. Hobbling forward, he never took his eyes off Tweety, but the gaze was not intense: merely curious, almost cynical enough to be inspecting. He set his arm on the counters for support and watched for a few more moments. Tweety was so nervous under his optics that she didn't even have the mind to try and see what he pulled from under the counter and set in front of Rosegold - she kept his gaze, and he kept her's.

The mech finally huffed slightly, bending his head down and meeting his arm halfway so the servo could adjust his glasses. Looking back up, he nodded Rosegold off, returning to his chair. And then the mech spoke for the first time, a gravely and low sound. "Tell Megatron he got himself a feisty one, for sure."

Rosegold didn't reply, but smirked as she turned away, once more molding into the flow of pedestrians. Tweety looked back over her shoulder until Rosegold gently nudged her with an open palm, and the human slid down into it.

"What was that about?" Tweety finally asked, staring up at Rosegold.

"Oh, he's just an old friend." The maid shrugged. "He has a bit of history with Megatron, as far as I know. He does lots of… special requests for the Lord Protector."

"… Like what?" Tweety did not miss the strange tone of promise in Rosegold's last words. And the femme caught onto her strange tone of suspicion as well, optics sliding down to leer mischievously at Tweety.

"Why, just a collar of sorts for the young mistress, is all."

Tweety paused, then groaned aloud. But somehow, the maid's gentle goads were somewhat comforting in this characteristically uncomfortable development. Tweety reflected on why that was so as the maid began to gently unwrap the package, pulling out a small silver-toned slave bracelet, thick chain tinkling gently with the sways of Rosegold's gait. She let it fall into Tweety's open palms, and the girl began inspecting the bracelet absentmindedly. Thoughtful work went into the simplistic design, and she noticed on the small Decepticon insignia a small light beeped steadily. _A tracking device, no doubt,_ she grumbled just low enough to avoid Rosegold's suspicion.

Tweety avoided the inevitable of someone chasing her around trying to get it on her and began searching for the clasps without hesitance. It took her a moment to find it's designated place over her middle finger and around her wrist, but she eventually sat back to admire the shiny new piece. She will admit that if it didn't have such lewd connotations or reminded her so strongly of her enslavement, she would probably like the stylish jewelry. It used to be a very popular style in the 21st century.

And that thought made her pause. How did she know that? And why did that come to the forefront of her thought?

* * *

When they arrived home, Tweety was not amused to find that the Lord Protector had taken another short work day and had already arrived back at Darkmount. As Rosegold bowed in the foyer, Megatron's optics settled on the shiny chain Tweety thought briefly about hiding.

"I see you were successful in obtaining the necessary supplies. Good work, Rosegold. You are dismissed for the day."

"Of course, Lord Megatron. Should there be anything else you need my assistance for I am only a call away."

He nodded once, holding Tweety's gaze long after she and her purchases had been set on the coffee table and Rosegold had exited with another little bow. Megatron, finally moving towards her, released a puff of air and took in the living area appraisingly. Tweety felt herself stop breathing when he stooped suddenly and raised her chained wrist with his sharp fingers, poking and prodding at the bonds momentarily.

And then, after apparently deeming the item sufficient, a small tool suddenly appeared from his fingers. She stiffened as a small concentrated flame ignited from the tip, and began to weld the clasps shut. Permanently.

After a few beats of silence, she was the first to speak. "So this is never coming off."

He didn't pause, smiling gently. "No. It's not ever coming off."

* * *

Tweety sat atop Megatron's desk next to the working Lord Protector. It was not the office she had originally infiltrated, rather one adjoining Megstron's preferred living area. She had been wrong about Megatron leaving work early; when she asked, he simply stated that he had an appointment that he needed to meet at the castle. So, as the warlord continued to work and summarily ignored her, _she_ continued to fall deeper and deeper into what she herself would call 'chronic boredom.'

But hours later, that was remedied by a small _beep_ from the desktop, alerting Megatron to a visitor at the entrance. She watched him plug in a command and then rise from his chair, heading towards the doorway. He paused, and turned to look at her.

"Stay here." The two words were all she needed to hear to understand the warning he was conveying, and the dark promise behind it. She nodded immediately, and after contemplating for a moment and deciding it was satisfactory, he left.

She sat quietly for a few moments, and then began to wonder who he had an appointment with that would need to be met in his own home. Thinking on what little she knew of Decepticon politics from the last few days in his possession, she did not think Megatron would be one to see one of his underlings in his personal territory. Unless something had gone very, very wrong, and she hoped if just for her own sake that wasn't the case.

Her thoughts continued to circle until she heard footsteps coming back - now a pair of them. Megatron appeared in the doorway, approaching her directly and stretching out his hand. "Come, human," his tone was impatient, "we are heading to the bathroom."

"W-why?" She blurted before she could stop herself, then noted her place and stepped into his hand swiftly. He did not answer her, continuing down the hallway past his personal quarters. She was now further confused. Why would he be taking her to a bathroom, and a bathroom not his own?

When they rounded a corner into a less used hallway, it suddenly dawned on her what was likely happening as he stroked and examined her dreads through his fingers thoughtfully. And when they entered the sparsely decorated bathroom to find a human hairdresser setting up shop in a small chair, she immediately began backpedalling.

"Wh-what are we doing? I mean, a-are we… Washing my dreads?" She was afraid to even voice her _real_ concern, lest she be placing a new idea into his head for him to torture her with.

Her efforts, though, proved futile with his curt response. "No, we are cutting them."

She immediately was dumped on the counter. Scrambling away from the chair, she looked between the other human and Megatron. Megstron's reaction was predictable - his face suddenly hardened and locked in that position, smoldering eyes tracking her every movement. The human, though, was strangely calm. It was a male, perhaps in his early 30's, a blue streak running through his dark mop of hair that was styled well. His eyes followed her a bit less intensely than Megatron's, and he did not leave the chair's side. He wasn't perhaps indifferent, just unmoved by her sudden panic. She then noticed another Cybertronian sitting in the corner of the bathroom, hiding from sight, and this mech did look mildly concerned.

As this new mech sat up and began to approach, Tweety spun back to Megatron once more. "You can't cut my dreads," she began, realizing how ridiculous it sounded but continuing. "Th-they're… special. Besides, they don't require as much maintenance as normal hair anyways. Wash every few days and-"

"They are insanitary and hazardous to your health." His voice was even harder than his eyes, ground out through his razor teeth. "You _will_ have them cut. If I am lenient, I will allow them to leave a few inches near your scalp."

She shook her head wildly, the ropes swinging around as if trembling in their own dismay. "No! You can't!" Clenching her fists, she looked for the right words, searching desperately. "Y-you just can't!"

Megatron fumed, letting out a long breath. "I am growing _weary_ of dealing with your silly notions and ungrounded demands, human. I will count to _three,_ and if you are not in that chair by the time I am finished, a dislocated shoulder will be the least of your worries!"

She stood her ground, eyes shining with unspilled tears in the face of his threat. "One," he began, and she rocked back on one foot towards the chair, but stayed where she was. _"Two."_ Her lip wobbled and she bit down on it, fists clenching and unclenching as she broke out in a sweat. Just as he was sneering to growl out his final count she fell forward onto her knees, holding her hands against her face.

"Y-… you j-just _can't!"_ Was her final declaration, sucking in her sobs as she looked up again, arms falling in defeat.

He looked ready to squash her with his fists. Teeth bared in pure malice, he growled his next words out slowly. "And why is _that?"_

She sucked in a few breaths, eyes on the floor in contemplation, or perhaps a war with herself. She murmured briefly, then looked up, swallowing hard. "It's just…"

Taking in ragged breaths, he waited, eyes blazing. She cradled her arms against her chest, one circling the shoulder he injured absently. "I just won't have anything left. There won't be nothing left of me."

At first, the words had little effect. But with the passing of the following moments after her statement, Megatron began to relax. His expression did not change, but she saw things flickering behind his optics, his processor working hard. Finally, he pulled himself up from loom over her and pulled his own arms against his chest to mirror her own. "That does not make any sense, and I demand a better explanation."

She blinked rapidly in response, eyes darting over the countertop once more to try and find more words. She looked up, exasperated, sighing. "I've always had my hair this way. For as long as I could remember… I don't even know if it's ever been straight or short. I just…"

Silence hung over the room, and she suddenly became aware once more of the two presences behind her. She dared a quick, embarrassed glance behind her to see the human and his owner in the same state she left them: one apathetic, the other worried whether the trip here was worth it. When her gaze flicked back to Megatron, his face was different. Standing at his full height, he released a long, steady breath, his bright red optics locking onto the Cybertronian.

"Cut her ends. One or two inches at the most. Put it in a braid if you can."

The mech jolted when he realized he was being addressed, then nodded curtly. "Oh course." Then to the human: "You heard him."

And then when the hairdresser's gaze darted from the still empty chair to Tweety, all eyes were on her once more. But she was still gazing up at Megatron rather openly, mouth slightly agape. She started when she heard a gentle cough come from the hairdresser, scurrying over to the chair to sit down. She jumped when he draped a smock around her front before she could lean back, and he pulled the thick tendrils out from underneath her back.

She grimaced when she heard gentle snips, but the man was crouching to get to the ends. She relaxed at the realization, eyes locking onto the Megatron in the mirror, standing vigil near the door.

They didn't break eye contact for a long few moments. He was the one to finally look away, and she settled into her chair further. The blue streak of hair circled all around her, bobbing up and down near her feet as he went. Soon the floor was covered in little one-inch pieces of matted hair, and he swept them up with a dust pan.

* * *

It was late at night when Megatron and Tweety ventured out from Darkmount. He stopped in the offices for a few minutes and then walked out the front doors of HQ, transforming and taking off into Cybertron's brilliant night sky.

Tweety's hair had been washed and braided, the groups of tendrils forming a intricate and long weave down her head and across her back. She pulled it to the front, examining the frizzy and loose ends critically. They would mat back up soon, but for now she would keep her hair carefully collected in a knot at all times to prevent fraying or tears. She had learned over the years that dreadlocks had to be taken good care of lest in a few months time they could be ruined.

After a bath, she had been dressed in a material similar to jeans that had been on the rise in human fashion. When Rosegold had seen the pants she immediately shoved Tweety into a dressing room with several pairs, demanding they get her at least one she liked. Tweety had never worn the intricate, thick industrial knit before, and had only seen it in the occasional glimpse of magazines and billboards. Her pair was a dark maroon color, and Rosegold had picked out a flowing multicolored top to go with it. Being in the badlands had given Tweety some rather tough calluses in regards to fashion, and thus she wasn't necessarily displeased with the outfit, but didn't pay much mind when Megatron threw it at her and told her to put it on.

She sat in the cabin and fiddled with her thumbs, looking out the window on occasion to see Cybertron's active nightlife. It was a light show down below, restaurants and clubs in a constant flow of moving patrons. She frowned, looking back up to stare at the console. She was never quite sure where to look when speaking to Megatron in his alt mode.

"Where are we going?" She asked, her feet shuffling together. He was quiet, but she detected it was a thinking quiet by the gentle shift in the thrum of his systems.

He hummed, dipping into a slight turn. "You appeared to have forgotten how to address me over the course of your outing with Rosegold, little human. It makes me wonder, what kind of influence does she have on you?"

Startled by the sudden accusation, Tweety fumbled for words for a few moments. "N-no! It's not her fault! I just… forgot… Master."

Silence ensued, and Tweety felt incredibly trapped inside the jet. His tone was strangely flat when he spoke next. "Make sure that you don't again."

She never got the chance to answer when he dove for the surface, transforming atop a larger building. A concierge was waiting, dipping into a deep bow after Megatron had stood upright. "All Hail Megatron, my lord! Welcome to the Spiral Crown. If you would please follow me, I will lead you to the dining room."

Letting the small mech get a small head start, Megatron followed after him at a leisure pace, setting Tweety atop his shoulder. Down a spiral staircase they went, into the depths of the building.

She noted in sincere interest the decor of the establishment: it was apparently a hotel, a large water feature and light show glowing dimly off of Megatron's silver armor, which she now noticed he had at some point polished very recently. Exotic flowers from Earth hung from chandeliers and candelabras, across railings and over supporting beams and rafters. She noted that the staircase they were descending appeared, from a glance, to mimic that of a crown's essence - jewels were set in peaking points, pearls, rubies, emeralds and even diamonds glittering in the dancing lights. Suddenly Tweety felt a rush of heat to her cheeks as her throat tightened in a bout of rage. Why was this not on earth, in the hands of the humans who no doubt dug it up?

She was soon pulled from her stewing when the small mech led them onto an upper floor, and she began to hear somewhat familiar voices. Down a large corridor, the hotel mech opened large double doors, revealing the mechs and femmes of Decepticon Command in the midst of a revelry.

Energon flowed freely in the room, the large dining table in the center almost abandoned this far into the night. She felt Megatron pause at the entrance before entering, surveying the progress of the festivities before deeming it suitable to enter. She noted drawn curtains over small alcoves along the room's walls, and sly, scantily clad femmes draped across Decepticon's laps. Their first destination, apparently, was Starscream and his trine, the Air Commander noticing Megatron's approach when he was just a few strides away.

"Ah! Lord Megatron, how pleased we are that you made it," the intoxicated mech smiled, wings flaring as he stood and sauntered towards Megatron, all provocative swagger and nothing of the testy mech he had been yesterday. "We were beginning to worry."

As he was staring at the pout creeping ever closer to his face, Megatron suddenly found another one of Starscream's seekers at his elbow with a drink. After a brief moment of thought he took it, downing it nearly in one gulp. He sloshed it around his denta briefly, swallowing with a slight frown. "Is this all they can come up with for the highest of Decepticon ranks?"

"I know, this one's so far been a drag." Starscream commented, turning to stand next to Megatron as he gave the room a quick sweep. "But there's lots of it. And it's been a while since we've seen this many femmes sent up. _Anyways,_ we haven't heard from Shockwave, and Soundwave arrived a while ago but seemed to disappear shortly after. So I guess _I'm_ the only officer to have attended this dedicated soirée. Isn't that interesting?"

Megatron did not respond, looking out at the quickly accelerating debauchery and not making a sound. "Where are we keeping the pets?"

Starscream paused, blinking absently, then began to give Megatron's person a closer inspection. Leaning in front of his broad chest to see his other shoulder, he made a silent 'ah' with his mouth, returning upright. "It's at the other end - we shoved them in a room a few hours ago. I'm pretty sure they put a sign on it."

And then Megatron was off, leaving Starscream without another word. Tweety was jostled by the sudden movement, grabbing onto him with her good arm. He crossed the room in a matter of moments it seemed, swinging open a door with a strung-up sign hanging across the doorknob. She didn't get the chance to read what it said, but it appeared to be a barely legible drunken scrawl.

It was much quieter in the room, and across the lounge area ten or so small figures froze. Megatron bent down, deposited Tweety on the floor, and then shut the door behind him. She looked around, trying to find familiar faces and coming up with four, but only one friendly.

Darren approached her quickly, eyes alight with interest and gracing her with a big grin. She could not help but note the glares sent from the trio led by Marcus - it was so intense she could see it over the copious amounts of glitter and fluff adorning his person. Darren pulled her into a hug suddenly, and she stiffened, unsure of what to do with the contact. He pulled out of it quickly, looking embarrassed and apologetic. "U-uh sorry, I just… well, I'm glad to see you. It was getting kinda tense in here." He laughed.

She gave him a small half-smile, and she took him in. His dark hair was styled up with gel, and he wore a pair of black glasses that brought out the brown in his eyes. He wore light-washed jeans that could only be described as vintage, the style pre-dating the cyberformation of North America. A tweed jacket hung over a simple turtleneck, and she suddenly felt underdressed. He made the outfit look so sophisticated it was unreal.

She smiled bigger this time, hiding the blush on her face that she didn't quite understand. He grinned back, sending a look over his shoulder at the other humans. "So, what are you doing here? Megatron never comes to the dedicatees."

"The 'dedicatees?'" She parroted.

"Yeah, that's what this whole thing is, actually." His British accent suddenly seemed more pronounced, and she didn't know if it was the outfit or just his mood. Or, perhaps both. "The big business on Cybertron hosts these parties for Command in hopes that it will get them some perks of some kind from the higher ups. I don't know when they all started doing it or why, but they were long established before any humans came to Cybertron."

He began walking back towards the larger group, and Tweet followed. "But it's strange, Megatron coming. He never attends these things. He just up and did it?"

"Just… came here." Tweety said, trying to think through the evening. "Why does he never come?"

"Just doesn't. He never has since I've been here." Darren paused in his walk, raising a hand to his chin in thought. "Honestly, I've asked Soundwave, and he's told me to mind my own business, in so many words. It's strange, huh? For winning the war and making everyone shout that whole 'Hail Megatron' nonsense, he sure doesn't get out to actually soak up the limelight much. I've never understood it."

Tweety didn't think on Darren's words much at that moment. It seemed as if Marcus, Poppy, Trystan and a group of other pets had somehow teleported in front of them, so she stored the conversation away to analyze later.

She mentally braced herself for Marcus' coming rant, watching the boy's progressive swagger carry him the last few steps to her. His sneer was palatable underneath his eye and lip liner. He wore a flowing yellow and white bodysuit that did not go past his upper thigh, bio-lit and diamond encrusted brooches holding the layering fabrics in place. His lashes practically glowed with a strange sticky substance, flicking flecks of light across his grey eyes with his every blink. Tweety would have been surprised if this wasn't the pinnacle of this century's fashion, but she assumed that Starscream would want his pet to portray the height of wealth and authority. Thus, she gave him a lazy blink, her eyes moving discreetly over his bedecked person.

"So," the teenager began, swishing to a stop as he cocked his hip in what appeared to be a flirtatious maneuver, showing just a bit more leg, "Megatron's showed. What a surprise. And he brought the badlander. I'm very interested he made two publicity stunts in one outing. So, tell me, badlander, what goes on in that little castle of his? Does he make sure to train you real, _real_ good before he takes you out? Maybe a beating here or there to keep the idea of punishment fresh in that Neanderthal noggin, hmm?"

His sickly sweet tones in his pubescent voice just about drove Tweety over the edge, and she could do nothing but snarl and fume silently for several moments. And as her thoughts unclouded with sharp clarity in her mounting anger, her reply was interrupted by Darren's arm around her shoulders.

"I'm sure you would know about training, Marcus, considering all that dancing that was taught to you." And Tweety watched with fascination as the grinning, sparkling boy gave sudden pause. His attention was pulled from Tweety's low growls and onto Darren's face - his eyes flicked absently, but his frozen grin told a different story.

"It's really admirable how hard you've practiced. I'm sure you make your master very, very pleased." Darren's voice was like ice, and she suddenly felt that an unspoken conversation was happening behind all these words. Marcus stayed frozen for a few more seconds, then made some strange goggling expression at Darren, flicking his eyes underneath his gelled eyelashes.

"Well, we all do what we can, don't we?" And the last three words were practically hurled at the dark headed Britain: "It's our _job._ " And with that, he was done, sashaying back the way he came with his troop in pursuit.

Tweety was silent for a few more moments, then Darren and her locked stares. His arm was still around her, the stance undeniably possessive. She pulled out from under his embrace and he returned the arm to his side quickly, shuffling awkwardly as she stared at his visage. He could not avoid her intense stare, and soon he was asking out loud: "What?"

Her face was unreadable, but she shifted her weight to one foot and crossed her arms before she spoke. "I think I'm the person that should be asking that, actually. Something like, 'what was that?'"

If he could get more still, he did. Something in his eyes said he was still processing what she said even as he repeated, "What?"

She didn't move, her thick braid hanging across her shoulder and crowding her face. "Do you think that's going to stop him? You butting in every time he launches at me? Listen, don't get me wrong, I appreciate what you're trying to do. But it isn't helping. You said that the pets' hierarchy was dictated mostly by the rank of their masters, and if that's the case, I'm at the top. I just need to prove it."

And here, she leaned marginally closer, her face unfeeling. "But that's not going to happen even if _you_ don't respect me."

He started, sputtering for a moment before turning his head away and then facing her again. "Okay, I get the part about proving yourself. That makes sense. But I don't respect you? Don't get _me_ wrong, I appreciate what _your_ trying to say, but… what? I'm the chap who's been sticking my head out for you, and no one else here is doing that." He paused, sighing, and when he looked back she noticed genuine hurt in his eyes. "How in the world could I _not_ respect you?"

She paused, pursing her lips ever so slightly before forcing them into a line again. "Because," and here she began to turn, pushing the braid back over her shoulder to hang low on her back, "for all the jabs you took at Bitter Glitter, you didn't even bother to tell him my name wasn't 'badlander.'"

The silence behind her as she walked away made her stomach slowly drop.

* * *

She wasn't in Darkmount, and that much she knew. Looking at her hands, she felt immediately sick; her stomach rolled and wailed, demanding to look away from the bleeding but numb stumps of her fingers. She grimaced, wondering where she attained those wounds, and heard the single-toned notes of a piano calling out. The sound was sudden, a melody that she felt the mangled fingers twitching to automatically. It was as if she was the one playing the piece.

But as her mind wandered in this strangely blank space things began to change. The face of the Autobot scout was everywhere she turned, in a building there, a field here, scenes of his happy face and laughter coming to her in rapid fire. Real, fresh tears poured down her cheeks against her will, baffling her. She reached up to wipe at her face with now pristine hands. A dull glow appeared somewhere in front of her, and just as she turned her focus from her wet hands to it, it was already gone.

She spun in place, panicked breaths as she took in the sights and smells and sounds that she swore were not hers - or were they? Feelings and emotions rushed across her body and through her chest and stomach. She began backing up when arms suddenly gripped her shoulders. She shrugged them off, jumping away. She spun around to be met by an instant onslaught of voices. She reached up to shut her ears with her hands, and now bandages covered them. They bled through rapidly, the sticky substance leaking into her hair and her cupped ears. She stumbled to the ground, her head hurting, her eyes squeezed shut as a single voice rose through the terrifying cacophony with unnatural clarity.

 _You have to fix this, Tweety. We are all counting on you._

She opened her eyes at the commanding baritone to see Earth's face terraformed, metal glazing over the bodies beside her and entrapping them in an airless vacuum. Not even a sound was heard from the houses, bodies frozen still in the roads and the faint whistle of air the only sound.

And when she tried to inhale a breath, she realized she was covered in metal too.

* * *

She bolted from her spread of blankets, gasping out something between a sob and a scream. She slapped her hands over her mouth, realizing the hour was still quite early in the dark bathroom. Her hands met wetness against her cheeks, and her eyes were swollen and slick.

She then checked her hands, the images of the mutilated appendages too real to dismiss easily. Her hands were fine, though, just as she left them before bed. She had always found how unblemished her hands were strange. She had more scars on her legs and arms than her hands, despite how much more contact they had with the world than the rest of her body. But she didn't spare this too much thought at the moment - she felt her breaths hitch again, and berated herself for being so overcome with emotion due to a simple strange nightmare.

She calmed herself enough to lay back down in the pile, and never noticed Megatron standing in the shadow of the doorway, watching intently.


	6. A Drunk Buckethead

**A/N:** Thanks so much for reading guys and your fantastic reviews! If you've followed or faved without leaving a review, I would really appreciate it if you could just drop a one liner! I'm typically more snappy on the updates with stories that get more reviews, as are most fanfic writers; they are so encouraging! Once I started posting my fanfics and realizing that fact it made me post reviews a TON more on the stories I follow, often one for every chapter. I usually only don't review if I forget or get to engrossed in those fantastic stories. :) So just a thought: if you want to get more updates from your favorite stories, leave constructive comments! Compliment writers on their high points and don't be afraid to toss ideas or your thoughts out there. Writers DIE to know what their readers are thinking as they read. Trust me, I know. ;)

Sorry for the long A/N (yeah, I'm a bit of a Chatty Cathy when you get me to put pen to paper,) but there's one more thing. I wanted to give a bit of credit were credit is due: some of the ideas and political structure for my post-war Decepticon-ruled world building is inspired by Peacewish's _These Games We Play._ It's right here in the Transformers section, and if you haven't given it a read, it is without a doubt one of the best if not THE best Transformer fic on this site! I honestly am not a politics kind of person, but Peacewish at one time ran for office, so they definitely have a better grip on societies structure and it shows SO WELL in that fic. So there. Now shoo! Go read it again even if you have!

Aaand one more thing: by the reviews left, I think I should make a couple things clear. I might should have cleared this up earlier but it just occured to me now. The Badlands on Earth has its own human populace - very scarce, but it's there. They've got their own slave class, small traveling caravans, you name it. VERY every man for himself typical post-apocolyptic America, just eveythings metal after the attempted Cyberformation so there's no resources. A bunch of refugees and illegals trying to stay out from under the man. That's where Tweety comes from.

The other thing: this story takes place about five hundred earth years into Decepticon rule. If any of that wasn't clear, sorry.

WARNINGS: cursing, underage drinking, slight violence.

… This A/N is so long no one's going to read it. * _facepalm*_

* * *

Weeks had passed since the night of the dream, and Tweety still had not figured out what the imagery and voices meant. The dreams had not stopped, either - less volatile now, perhaps, and fleeting to her memory, but they still hung around in her sleep. The baritone still spoke to her in hushed whispers, her hands still were bloodied, and the Autobot scout's face was everywhere in her dreamscape. And when did she find out he was a scout? Something just _told_ her that was true, and she did not question it. All of the dreams gave her the vaguest sense of remembering, as if these were not fabrications but actual events. Part of her demanded to know more, but some reason, some fear lying low in her psyche told her not to dig too deep.

These thoughts occupied her as she sat atop Megatron's shoulder one late afternoon stroll through the richer sectors of Iacon. This had been the first time she had seen him out since coming to live with him, but she didn't pay much mind to the how or why. She was rather tired from the long day at Command, and she had satisfied her curiosity by thinking that Megatron had been tired of Starscream's rambunctious nature, too.

Her relationship with Megatron had… perhaps _stabilized_ in the past few days since the party. He seemed relaxed, though had an attentive interest in her, as well. He never forthright asked questions, but it seemed that ever since the dreams had begun he appeared almost concerned. She very soon realized that he might have overheard her that first night, and maybe even the nights afterward. After she had recognized the real danger, she suddenly wondered why she considered it a danger. Why would he care if she was having strange dreams about a Autobot slave? And then it hit her full on: she was having dreams about an _Autobot slave._

Here she was, a new acquisition to Megatron's household, straight from the badlands, dreaming about Autobots and rebelling every waking moment - and every dreaming moment, from Megatron's perspective. Perhaps concern wasn't concern, perhaps it was _suspicion._ And that was when she found the feeling of dread creeping back over her that she had almost shook of since she began staying here. It settled in firmly, and lead to more distance between her and the warlord.

And so, after these developments had occurred in the past couple of days, Tweety and Megatron had been spending their time together in a caustically quiet lull. It could be called quiet because they rarely spoke, and it could be called a lull because never once had they had an argument. It seemed as if the peace was by some mutual personal concern. But, nevertheless, it was still caustic because it seemed every moment they spent in quiet, something was brimming.

Tweety reflected over these realities as Megatron walked. She had long grown used to the hurriedly parting sea of mechs and femmes in front of Megatron. The minutes ticked by as the crowds around them fell hushed and crooned as Lord Megatron walked past. She heard the Cybertronian's whispers even above the din.

"Is it really him?"

"What a rare sight. Look, kids!"

"And so the Lord Protectorate crawls from his castle."

"Not something you see everyday."

If the hushed tones did not escape her notice, she knew they didn't pass Megatron's. But the warlord made no visible sign of noting them - on he walked, his strides devouring the pavement and his optics flashing over the cityscape indifferently.

Vendor's shouts grew in fever when Megatron passed, but he never looked twice their way. Only when a lone mech stood in his path did he stop, gazing down at the rusted paint with a gentle curl of his lip.

"Watch yourself, citizen. Do you not know who stands before you?"

His voice boomed menacingly; several mechs turned, and femmes clutched their creations closer. The vicinity was suddenly quiet, a small circle forming around the spectacle. A knot formed in Tweety's stomach. She felt something was about to happen.

And right she was when the city mech did not back away, moving forward. "Forgive me, Lord Megatron, Protector of Earth and Cybertron. But seeing you in the public's presence is not a common occurrence, one I took as a sign. I believe the fates have made our paths cross today."

Tweety leaned forward discreetly and looked at Megatron's expression. His eyes flashed when the mech spoke of signs and destiny - it was common knowledge the High Lord was a firmly unreligious mech, and even the speech of Primus and his followers had been banned since the establishment of Decepticon rule. To even hint at it in the presence of the Lord Protector was almost stupidly brave. And so, Tweety slid her gaze over to the street mech. He was obviously poor. Tattered armor hung low on his thinning protoform, his optics dim with waning fuel reserves. He stood calmly, though, respectfully, but not at all as most held themselves in the audience of the Lord and Master of Cybertron.

He shuffled slightly, then continued speaking. "I approach you, m'lord, to entreat your ear. I have two young femme creations, and without their mother to help support them, I fear for their lives. Our tax collector has taken the last of our money, due to overdue filing and-"

"And you expect me to give it back?" The grey mech drawled, towering over the small street mech. It stopped the small mech momentarily, but it did not phase him long.

"Yes, I do." That hung in the air for a few moments as Megatron's eyes continued to simmer degree by degree. The street mech did not notice or did not care, continuing on. "We have lost our house. My neighbor is about to loose his." And here he began to turn to the crowd, openly addressing them as well. "And why? Because Cybertron is being put under a strain that it is not ready to bear. The market is heavily fined for not having permits, the common man is robbed by the enforcers! The system is-"

"Just as it should be." Megatron interrupted once more, and by the look on his face, for the final time. He turned to some enforcers wearing the purple and red Deception stripes standing at the nearest street corner. "You there! Arrest this heretic."

And then, chaos descended. Shouts went out from the crowd as the mech was apprehended almost instantaneously. Strangely enough, though, Tweety noticed how most stayed hinged to the spot they stood, and the complaints were peppered with agreements with Megatron. Before she knew it, the street mech was handcuffed and almost out of sight, and Megatron took one step forward before turning to regard the shook up crowd.

"The war did not end with the Autobot's - it simply began a new phase. Now, my Decepticon's do not fight against soldiers, nor Senate. They battle with hearsay, with hypocrites, with thieves. There is no room in the new Cybertron for excuses, no room for those that are not willing to sacrifice. We will _all_ make sacrifices, just as I have and as my Decepticons have for the sake of our planet."

"To have your home once again, is that too much to ask?" Letting that question hang momentarily, his optics brightened with passion she couldn't know was real or not. She got one last look of the eyes of a small youngling looking straight at her before Megatron turned and left, the wake rippling around him once more.

* * *

"What happened?"

That was the first question they were greeted with upon returning to Headquarters. Megatron sighed, wishing he had simply flown to the flight deck above Darkmount instead of walking through the office halls. He flicked a look towards Starscream, who was flanked by several of his seekers and Soundwave. Shockwave stood off to the side, his lone optic dim with apprehension for the brewing storm within the warlord.

At least, that's what had always been expected at the first sign of uprising in Cybertron's budding populace since the Energon riots. But the High Lord enjoyed keeping his officers on their pedes, so opted for a slight glare towards Starscream and a nice, long stride to carry him broodily towards the command center. Soundwave was the quickest to recover, his slight footsteps following behind closely. Then it was Shockwave and shortly after Starscream. They were quiet until they were in a private conference room adjoining the command center.

And still it stayed quiet until Megatron was comfortable in his seat. And longer so as the officers took their places at the table too, at Megatron's gesture. The grey mech noted that Tweety still sat on his shoulder, and acting on a whim, he picked her up and placed her on the table. She responded to the sudden change minimally, something that gave him a gentle smile. The femme observed her surroundings carefully, then looked back to him. She gave Soundwave a quick glance then sat cross-legged on the tabletop facing her master, observing him as the rest of the assembled did.

Megatron signed deeply, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms behind his head. Staring at a fixed point on the ceiling, he finally spoke. "What do you know?"

Starscream jumped in immediately. "W-well, that a group of enforcers showed up with a handcuffed mech they said you told them to arrest. It was nigh impossible to get much more out of them, trigger happy loons so keen on getting the filth behind bars. So? What happened?"

Megatron shrugged absently, then stood, pacing against the wall calmly. "The heretic caused a disturbance, in front of me, nonetheless. What would you have done, Starscream?"

The edge in his last sentence had the Air Commander pausing just briefly enough for Shockwave to interject. "What of the crowds, m'lord? What was their response?"

"… Measured." Megatron replied thoughtfully, as if just hearing of it himself. "Some were even shouting for him to be imprisoned - but no one assisted or interfered. Tweety, how did you see their response?"

It took everyone else, Tweety included, a moment to realize he had really asked for her input. Starscream looked a bit too stunned to really complain, and Shockwave turned to stare at Tweety blankly, a light behind his optic showing his interest. Soundwave, as usual, was unreadable behind his mask. And the girl stuttered for a few moments until everyone had their attention focused fully on her.

Clearing her throat, she thought for a moment. "It was… mixed." She offered. "Half of the crowd seemed upset, and the other half was upset at that half. It was…"

She wanted to say strange but trailed off here, as if with no more words to say. Megatron stood still in thought for a moment, optics smoldering. The room watched him closely until he huffed angrily, fisted hands clenching. "I want that mech executed. _Quietly,_ if need be. But he needs to go."

"A common rabble, Lord Megatron?" Starscream whined, Thundercracker, who was standing up towards the back room, watching his trine leader with an intensity unmatched. Tweety noted this with curiosity, as if the usually stoic and rational mech was trying to bore holes into the back of his commander's helm. "Why bother messing with him? Why bother even arresting him at _all?_ This is unusual of you, m'lord," and here he lifted sharpened claws to examine them primly, letting his words roll into a drawl. "Are you feeling _well?_ "

Megatron almost looked tempted to seethe in response. But he eventually gave another angry huff, returning to his pacing. "How I am _feeling,_ Starscream, is questioned. Cross-examined. _Interrogated_ by my own property!" And here he spun, his optics blazing what his cannon wished to convey, by the whir that began to emanate from his firing arm. "It is unacceptable, and I will _handle_ it as I see fit." Shoulders hiked, he snatched up Tweety from the table and left the room without needing to reiterate his orders to know they would be followed.

The walk back was tense, but short due to Megatron's apparent hurry. She was quiet as he set her down on the table a bit more calmly than he had picked her up. Her eyes followed his fuming face as he left the room to enter his personal wash racks.

Megatron's mood did not change as he entered the bathroom and turned on the faucets in the shower. One thing did calm him a bit though: the sight of Tweety's cage. Should he get her a more permanent sleeping arrangement? She had been here for over a week now, and it seemed appropriate she was given her own bed and perhaps a dresser for her clothes that had been shoved in a pile on the countertop. He noted too the shampoo and other items put in somewhat organized spots atop the clear glass surface. He filed the thought away for later and stepped underneath the hot solvent, standing stock still and slowly releasing a breath. The tension in his shoulders released as they gently dipped down.

And even though he had told himself he would not think on his pet anymore - preferably not anything for the time being - she still sunk back into his thoughts. He had been thinking of her frequently recently. She came to him when his mind drifted during the more mundane meetings in Command and when he found himself sitting idle in the evenings and early mornings. The questions were numerous since the moment he had first spoken to her, but one had recently cropped up when he heard her screaming just a few nights before.

And when the sleep talking didn't stop, and he heard her feverish cries and frantic queries sounded out in her dreamscape, he had noticed a knot forming somewhere in his chest. Word by word and night by night it grew and twisted, soon crawling down into his tank and edging it's way up his throat. And when he realized what it had been, he was revolted: _concern,_ deep-seated, wearing concern for her and her nightmares. When it had first become apparent, he balked at himself. Why would he care for the girl? She was nothing but a plaything. If anything, he should be angry that she was disturbing his sleep. But the more and more he dwelt on it the more it became clear this wasn't an emotion he could easily control. Each time he tried to refute it, her scared, but oh-so-brave eyes flashed at him again for the first time. Soon, he wasn't able to combat these realities and had to concede that she was now a special property, something more than just a small trinket.

He couldn't quite bring himself to be angry with her, more irritated with his weakness than anything. And he couldn't quite bring himself to be cold towards her either. He was so utterly confused that he had settled for a rather interesting distance that she seemed keen on adopting too. They rarely spoke, and if he was honest with himself, he missed their typical banter. Tweety's noisy presence had been dying down bit by bit the longer she had stayed, and he wondered if he should really be making her feel so obligated to stay quiet.

He stayed much longer than needed under the spray of the solvent while absorbed with these thoughts. Stepping out, he went to stand underneath the heated grates on the far wall. The heat generated from the coils along the wall and floor felt good along his protoform, his armor protecting them from feeling their real scorch. He grabbed a small towel from a cabinet to wipe around inside his gyros and walked back to the living room.

Tweety had fallen asleep on top of the table, without even a towel to rest her head on. He felt a pang of guilt that he quickly rounded on and smothered, but still turned around in the bathroom to grab her a soft polishing cloth. He added some real blankets to his small shopping list he was internally writing for Rosegold when she returned tomorrow. On that list was a permanent living situation for his tired and worn human, whatever that may entail.

He sat on the couch, then gently scooped the heavily slumbering girl into the soft towel. She stirred while being transferred, but only snorted with a bit of alarm before giving his face a tired glance and snuggling into the cashmere fabric as flippantly as possible. She didn't even seem awake enough to really put some effort into being flippant, he mused, but it appeared ingrained enough for her to give him a bit of sass even when not fully conscious.

He didn't turn on the television set as he sat stroking her covered form. She seemed content with his petting, humming gently in the darkness of the dimly lit living room. He hadn't opened the drapes or unshuttered the windows when they returned home. The late afternoon light almost seemed intrusive to him; he had this familiar feeling, like he was being transported with a battalion in an aircraft carrier long, long ago, somewhere over Tarn or Polyhex, perhaps. It wasn't the setting: there was no gunfire around him, no bombs setting off above his helm nor the squeals of dying Cybertronians nor his own ragged breath. But something still had his spark beating carefully in it's chamber, patiently, like he was waiting - poised as ever - to enter the fray undaunted. He assumed that this familiar feeling was expectation, an expectation that something important was about to happen.

He picked the bundle of rags up carefully and deposited it on the cushions next to him. Standing and reaching for a few drinks, he came back and sat down carefully so as not to bounce the light human. She was still as could be in his presence, conscious of him he knew, but choosing to nap quietly. It was leaps and bounds ahead of where he had first found her. And again, he berated himself internally for letting his thoughts wander so aimlessly. Why was she so important? _Why_ was he so preoccupied with her?

He was torn away from his questions as she stirred, sitting up slowly. She gently stretched her arms upward, pushing back her wayward dreads and yawning. She seemed to almost contemplate going back to sleep after watching Megatron pour himself a glass of the mystery concoction and nurse it gently.

But, staring at her as he sipped, he seemed to decide something. Standing back up abruptly and reaching for the same cabinet, he came back with his fist cupped around something small. He opened his palm against the table and off slid with a gentle clink and slosh a human-sized, clear liquor bottle with an accompanying shot glass.

She eyed the amber-colored contents warily, sleep still heavy in her eyes. "What's-"

"Whiskey." He replied, returning to his glass. "Drink."

She gave him a sideways glance, and held it as she picked up the whiskey bottle and unscrewed the top. Why would he have gotten her whiskey? And _where_ could you even acquire human alchoholic beverages on Cybertron? Mind preoccupied, she eyed the liquid as it slid into the small shot glass. Some spilled into her lap, and she cursed, blotting it with the towel. He looked up at her swear, watching her fumble with the bottle and full shot glass.

He took the bottle from her and set it down on the tabletop. He watched her with mild amusement as she sniffed and lapped at the shot experimentally, cringing at it's flavor. He leaned back slowly, putting an arm across the back of the couch. "It's better if you down it all at once."

She looked up at him, perplexed, then took his advice with one quick motion. When the liquid met the back of her throat she coughed, hands over her mouth as she struggled to recover. His booming laugh echoed throughout the room, and she glared up at him to see his red optics practically twinkling with delight. Their gazes held for a while more, and his grin tipped a bit suggestive. "What? Too strong for you?"

His eyes darted to the lonely bottle and her's followed, seeing the challenge in his optics. She stretched across the gap between the couch and the table and snatched the bottle back up, clutching it firmly against her chest as she unscrewed the cap once more. She never left his gaze as she poured herself another shot and swung it back defiantly, jaw and throat working around the substance. A deep, cleansing breath followed, the last potent flavors of the whiskey being reminisced on as they cleared out of her senses.

He smiled, reaching for his own bottle once more and pouring himself another drink. As he sipped his slowly, optics far off, she thumbed her shot glass in thought and poured herself another. It was quiet for what felt like several minutes after that, and she was startled when he spoke.

"Days like these make me wonder if being the leader of Cybertron was really worth it in the end, human." A pause, and a drink. "If just for a moment, at least."

Tweety looked up at him with wide optics, unsure of this mannerly familiarity her master was taking up with her. "Well… You earned this. You fought for it. I guess it doesn't matter if you like it or not."

The procession of thought seemed to flow out of her mouth involuntarily, as if she was using him as a sounding board to formulate her opinion. He seemed a bit taken aback by the statement as well: he didn't meet her eyes, but his optics went wide, leaning back a bit further and grasping his knee as he rested his pede on his leg. "I suppose that's true. Although, it doesn't mean I can't _continue_ to fight for what I want."

"If that's the case, just so you know," relaxed somewhat now that she hadn't had her other shoulder dislocated yet, "you're going to be fighting your whole life."

He gave a little chuckle, speaking behind the drink he was raising to his lips. "I suppose that's true as well."

It was silent again, but he turned to face her fully with a question in his optics. "I would think a badlander would know much about fighting, wouldn't they? Especially since you eventually out maneuvered those slavers. How long did it take?"

Her eyes pinned to his, expression hard as her drink hand paused in its ascent. After a few long moments in which Megatron almost regretted the question, she finally resumed as if someone had pressed the play button on a tape. Her focus moved back to the farthest wall, she took a sip off her shot. Afterwards, "a week and a half. They didn't know how to properly tie handcuffs - took a while to realize it though, as I'm not an expert myself."

He now appeared to be sullen. Eyes downcast, he contemplated. "Your stitches still would have been fresh, even if they took your uterus on the first day."

He realized as he watched her slosh her fourth shot as she leaned back that the alcohol was what was talking. She wouldn't have been so freely offering information if she was uninhibited.

Her eyes raised to the ceiling in an exaggerated show of effort, fingers drumming against her thigh. "Mmm… I guess so. Yeah, I do recall having to dump gasoline from an old gas station on it to fix an infection. They never split though, thankfully."

"And where did you get that gash on your ribs?" He asked, his talons gesturing.

"Oh!" She sat up, again reaching for the bottle. "It was the same bastards! Rushed me when I was sleeping - barely got away. And with a present." She rolled her eyes, pulling up her shirt to see the scar. "I thought I was fine until about two weeks after it happened. It started getting really hard to breathe, I was exhausted all the time." She sat back, legs pulled into a lazy Indian sitting pose and bottle cradled behind her kneecap. "Had it since you assholes found me."

He snorted at the insult. "Well at least I don't curse at you."

"I bet you just save it until your _really_ mad," she giggled, hiccuping as she nursed another shot. "I bet Starscream's gotten it. Shockwave too - he's just too damn nosy from what I've heard. Scientist's curiosity my ass. If he could've actually decoded the relics then I would believe it."

He gave her a sideways glance, lip curling derisively. "How do you know about the relic hunt on Earth? And he wasn't even there for that." Megatron adjusted his seat a bit, staring at the ceiling. "He rejoined the front lines after the Cyberformation."

He expected some kind of negative reaction to the mention of her planet's deforestation, but she seemed to brush over it without thought as she leaned forward. "So wait - who decoded the relics exactly? It wasn't Soundwave was it? In the badlands I always used to hear that you had Optimus Prime brainwashed into doing it."

She almost expected the sadistic warlord to grin, but something strange happened. His eyes stayed stuck to the ceiling, not moving to meet her's. It took a few moments for him to properly respond, looking down at his drink and then swishing the rest of it back. "No. He wasn't brainwashed, exactly. His memory was wiped after the use of the Matrix against Unicron, back to before he was a Prime. He remembered me as Megatronus." He smiled gently, a sadness in his optics.

He appeared to become restless, standing up. "It was Soundwave who did most of the decoding." He snatched her bottle away, and even though she glared, it didn't last long. He watched her sink further and further into the towel, the light in her optics fading fast. Setting the liquor on the tabletop and gently scooping her up, he headed into the bathroom. "Tell me you've drank liquor before." He realized the potential mistake as he walked past the trash can at the dooway.

She giggled, barely coherent. "Naw. You don't need to worry. Done it a time or two when I stole it off of guys. Killer headaches in the morning, though."

He grumbled as he set her in the crate, grabbing another towel after she was settled. "Don't expect me to nurse you when you wake up."

Giggles erupted from her, curling into a small ball beneath the towel. Her response was muffled, a bit more slurred the closer she drifted to sleep. "I don't take you as the mothering type, buckethead."

He wanted to be mad at the insult that he hadn't heard in centuries, but let it slide. A smile in his eyes, he draped the towel over the crate to let the human sleep. "Go to sleep, Tweety."

"Using my name now, huh?" She was so far he barely understood, and nothing came after that but evened out breathing. He sighed, checking his internal chronometer. Not too late in the afternoon. He could perhaps catch up on reports and do some recreational reading afterwards. If Soundwave was still in Command after that, he might invite him to spar.

He was about to step out of his bathroom when something hit him like a brick wall. If he hadn't heard the derisive nickname used exclusively by the Autobot's in their catcalls since the war ended, then how did Tweety know about it?

And again, he felt the caustic lull creeping back in.


	7. Twitchy Fingers

**A/N:** I am sorry the most recent chapters have been rather small. I am keeping them short for actual plot reasons instead of just time crunch. Love me, hate me, whatever. Although, I _do_ like this teeny tiny bit of story at a time thing. Makes it so much easier to handle.

A bit of personal stuff here you're welcome to skip over: life is ups and downs, we all know this, but I am not doing good at the moment. It's hard to remember things get better, I guess. I got some very disappointing news from the doctor a couple of weeks ago, had what was without a doubt the worst vacation I've ever had after that, and generally have been feeling rather depressed because of all of it. And about the doctor news bit: no, I don't have cancer, I'm not dying, it's _okay. You will see the end of this story. Promise._ ;) It's just being handed a pill at the tender age of 10 and being told your going to be on it for the rest of your life is something that's always been hard for me to accept, because life has always been hard for me to accept, but I'm just going to have to get over it. Or try to fix it again. I don't know. I'm still processing it all.

So for all of those struggling with illness, whether the world label it 'minor' or 'major,' I'm feeling you right now. I don't care if you just have a friggin' cold: _its unfair, and it sucks._ I know.

Also: changed username. Lionfart is what I am on every other site around the Internet, and I honestly like the name better. So there. Name change explained.

Okay! Back to the reason your here, story: really, _really_ crucial shit is about to go down. I am super excited. :D (But y'all might hate me and think it's super lame, but whatevs. Hataaaaaaas…)

WAIT ONE MORE THING: (Also super excited.) Have y'all heard of Myer-Briggs? Or MBTI? Ok. Go take the friggin test. Now. And fun facts: Tweety is a INTP, Darren is a ESFJ, and Meg's is a ENTJ. I will figure the rest out later.

… I need to stop talking in these things so much…

WARNINGS: … Actually, rather mellow chapter. Besides earthquakes. WHOOPS- WASTHATASPOILER. :O

* * *

"You can't have the cheese, right?"

"Not the cheese, the bread." Tweety's reply was terse, hand still held out for the sandwich.

Darren fumbled with the food, muttering something under his breath. They did not meet gazes once except for when they first said hello. Neither were eager to after their last encounter. Though, this had gone unnoticed by Soundwave and Megatron for a time now as they chatted idly over the table about Headquarter's politics and the cities growth. All Tweety could hope was that this visit didn't last long and Megatron didn't think she needed too many 'play dates,' as he had put it.

She believes if Darren knew what she was thinking he would agree with her, if he wasn't already entertaining the same thoughts himself. She had been upset by the idea of coming to see him, but she didn't think that Darren would be even more upset than her; he had appeared visibly offended by the sight of her, and somewhat surprised. She would have thought that Soundwave would have informed his charge of the date before her and Megatron's arrival. But, apparently she was wrong, indicated by the stuttering and shaking hands after Darren's master had prompted his response to her greeting.

After that, a Sunday brunch had ensued, and they had barely gotten past the soup without spitting fire at one another. Very quietly perhaps - so as not to disturb their masters - but still, words were words to Tweety, and Darren appeared brimming with them and ready to share. She, on the other hand, wished to forget the night had ever happened. _I'm sure a lot of Decepticons want the same thing for some of the dumb stuff they did,_ she mused. _I'm not being unreasonable here._

Her host, however, disagreed. As he munched on his sandwich as hurt and as angrily as one could, she wondered if her newfound friendship was now over. She had never been good forming social connections, and mentally she was tallying this as another instance to prove it.

And then, out of nowhere, something happened. With a heave and a sign, rocking a bit in his cross-legged pose, Darren stole into her eyes the same way he had when she had first met him. He seemed so full of compassion that it was unreal to her. "Rumble has been taking piano lessons. I don't want to seem mean, but he sucks." Lowering his voice with an eye flick to his master, he repeated. "He sucks, like really badly."

She didn't smile, but something in her eyes brightened at the thought of Rumble playing piano elegantly verses the likely scenario - the mech at his wits end as he destroyed his piano. "Who's he taking from?"

"Some high dollar instructor from earth." He sighed again, jabbing his fork into a grape in the fruit salad. "Soundwave warned him about taking an earth instrument. I'm not sure if it's meant for Cybertronians, even if everything is to scale."

"Probably not." She agreed, looking to the ceiling thoughtfully. "There's a reason we didn't make techno dubstep from the start like these guys did. We have a connection with our planet, I guess, and the things made from it. Drums, stringed instruments, wind instruments, they're all made from wood and minerals and animal parts."

She didn't notice his eye brighten and lips purse. "Hmm. Well said."

She stayed quiet for a few more minutes, thinking. "What's he been taking exactly?"

"Like what do you mean?" He spoke behind a mouth full, looking at her intently. "Do you play?"

Her eyes brightened in a peculiar way, sitting up straighter. "… No. I… took a little when I was a kid."

He smiled, mischief in his voice. "I'm sure you can help Rumble out then."

She openly snorted, then laughed with him. Megatron glanced down and quirked a small grin at his femme enjoying herself. Soundwave watched Darren stand as he wiped his hands, gathering up the dishes. The teenager paused, looking at Tweety for a moment before he passed the tray to Lazorbeak. "You know… I've never actually heard someone play before that can actually play. I know it's probably been awhile, but do you remember anything?"

Before she could respond, Megatron leaned into the conversation. "What's this about?" His tone was ever commanding, but she saw the curiosity in his optics.

"Oh, Tweety said she can play a bit of piano." Darren smiled at her, knowing he was going to get his way. "We just bought a grand and put it in the sunroom upstairs. It really needs to be broken in by some good hands, maybe then it'll be easier for Rumble."

"Perhaps you can show him what you know." Soundwave nodded, glancing behind his back at the twins' shut bedroom door. Loud theater noises were barely constrained by the wall, faint zombie growls and gunfire reaching her ears. "He is eager, but not necessarily a natural."

"Frenz keeps goading him about it," Darren smiled. "And the less spats they have, the less likely I am to get injured in the scuffle."

"Indeed." Soundwave's voice was smiling. Megatron stood up and gently coaxed Tweety into his hand. She noted that he seemed to have gotten the hang of how to handle humans at this point.

"Well then, I would be interested in seeing what you can do too, Tweety. It would be a nice party trick." Megatron started towards the in-suite elevator.

"But wait, I don't- I mean-" Tweety couldn't finish before Soundwave had them going up.

"Nonsense. There's no pressure." Megatron goaded, smiling down at her. "At least not much."

Gulping as the door opened, Megatron slid her off onto the small end table in the sunroom. The panels beyond the elevator were glass, opening up to the Cybertronian skyline. She could see the bustle of the late morning commute waking itself across Iacon. And then, it suddenly occurred to her that Soundwave had a very, very swank place. Likely just as swank as the Seeker towers, if not more.

And then, looking around the end table, she saw the baby grand sitting peacefully near a lampshade and a high backed chair. The typical pianist's stool was placed before the keys and pedal, waiting invitingly but almost intimidatingly. Her fingers twitched slightly at the thought, and she remembered the soft music playing in her dreams.

She carried herself to the piano without thought, unaware of the eyes watching her. Her eyes were large and curious, almost reverent as she touched the keys. Her fingers then began to take life of their own.

Flowing across the instrument, she began something soft and delicate. Megatron's brows rose. She had the skill only an invested musician could attain, someone who had put thought and effort into their trade. A mistake was made here or there, but her pauses came less and less, confidence growing as the music seemed to invigorate itself all on it's own. She almost appeared possessed in her concentration, easily absolving everything else in the room in her mind.

And when she brought it to a close, she sat back slightly, seeming just as shocked as everyone else. Looking up, she eyed Megatron with doe eyes. She didn't say or do anything but stare.

"… A party trick indeed." Darren clapped, smiling. "Come next week and teach Rumble a thing or two, okay?"

She smiled, nodding behind a blush as she looked down to smooth out her pants. "Okay."

Megatron exchanged glances with Soundwave, and his officer inclined his head. "I know you had other appointments to attend to, master. You may leave at your leisure."

They then began formal goodbyes as Megatron collected his things and left. Tweety sat in his cockpit quietly on the ride to another meeting with tax collectors and Shockwave he had established after the incident with the street mech.

"You never told me you could play." He broke the silence, his voice almost sullen and dissapointed. She looked from the window to his cockpit and smiled gently.

"I almost forgot that I could."

* * *

The rest of the weekend passed uneventfully, long naps on the couch being the highlight. Tweety felt her fingers twitching throughout, and she more than once was startled when Megatron asked her to stop humming. She saw the smile on his face as he turned away, though. So it was startling when the week began with shouts echoing down the hallway to Darkmount.

Tweety had been bathing in what was now almost "her" sink next to Megatron's as the warlord was cleaning and lubricating his joints. He looked up first, optics still soft with sleep hardening almost instantly at the noisy intrusion that was slowly growing closer. She only noticed once he stood up and left the bathroom. Standing slowly, water still dripping off her skin, her calves waded through the shallow pool to the rim to listen to what was going to happen next.

Minutes ticked by as the commotion did not stop nor escalate, and then she felt Megatron's steps carrying him back. When he walked through the doorway, he looked angry, confused, and very, very unhappy.

"Tweety, dry off and get dressed." He ordered, disappearing into a closet full of weapons.

She obeyed, crawling out of the basin and picking up a towel. She stood awkwardly in the cold air, looking around for a moment before speaking. "Where are we going? What's happened?"

He didn't respond, returning a few moments later, strapping down the last bits of a mod onto his fusion cannon. He stood, eyes on the far wall as he took in a deep ventilation and exhaled. He took the few steps towards the sink and held out his arm.

"Come. You will see when we get there."

* * *

Megatron flew low, level with the tops of the skyscrapers along Iacon's downtown until they were out of sight. Then he flew even lower, a mere fifty feet from the enforcer alt modes driving on the rough terrain below. She knew him well enough now to know he was purposefully trying to make them nervous. Besides, Starscream and Shockwave were wisely traveling behind the angry Protectorate, and he needed someone to take his frustration out on. Everyone knew Megatron would not be happy with his officers leading some hysteric enforcers into his home and disturbing him in the twilight hours.

His temper did not lessen as they drove either, a solid thirty minutes before the enforcers leading them began to slow. Once they stopped, he made a small circle, and suddenly his humming engines quieted. Tweety tried to see over the rim of the cockpit to understand what had made him surprised, but he circled back, landing with the girl curled up in his servo.

He kept her protected for a few more moments. "… When did this happen?"

Her eyes darted over Megatron's shrouded armor, listen intently to the shuffle of the enforcers. A small scuffle, and the she felt the hum of one of the mech's systems come closer. "The last inspection over this sector was three weeks ago, so it appeared sometime since then."

Silence. She felt Starscream's dainty steps tinkle closer. "Are there any Energon energies emanating from it?"

 _Ah. Smart question Starscream._ Tweety internally complimented the mech. _Everyones always looking for new Energon sources, right?_

"No, Commander," the enforcer responded. "We checked inside. Dry as the surface."

 _Inside?_ Finally tired of her guessing game, she pushed against Megatron's palms, and he opened them after a moments hesitation. The day had come to full light, and it blinded her for a moment.

She crawled forward carefully, holding onto Megatron's fingers as he began to walk. She stayed low to not be knocked loose, and waited until he stopped next to a whistling noise, like a great expanse of open air was somewhere nearby. Standing up, she looked forward and frowned, seeing nothing immediately. Megatron smirked, eyes looking down. She stepped forward further, following his gaze.

She reeled back, her vertigo overwhelming. They stood on the edge of a chasm, it's cracked lips like a snarling maw miles wide and thousands more deep. Her breaths came a bit more rapidly than she would have liked, staring into the dull metallic crevasse with wide eyes. The sheer _size_ of the scar in the surface shocked her, even more so that it suddenly appeared as if overnight. "W-what is this?" She thought aloud, speaking to no one in particular.

They were joined by Shockwave and Starscream, and the Air Commander gasped dramatically at the sight. "… It- It's the end of us!"

"Not necessarily, Starscream," Shockwave responded, calm as ever. "It would require further study to deduce that fact. And as it stands, the patrols could have missed it over the past sweep or two. It could have taken much longer than a month to form."

"You don't know that." The seeker spat, his flared wings giving a little quiver. "My seekers are _exceptional_ scouts, and are thorough in their duties. Any unauthorized mecha or any strange happenings like this _would_ be found and reported."

"I am not necessarily questioning your mechs performance, Starscream," Shockwave countered, "but merely thinking over all the possibilities. Why, I do believe you were on Earth on business a few weeks ago-"

"Enough talk." Megatron turned from the fissure, holding Tweety close to his chest. "I don't care about possibilities. I want the answer: when did this happen, and why?"

Turning to face his two officers, the two mechs froze. "If this _is_ an issue, we need to keep it quiet. Keep the civilians off of this sector, even if you have to stop all traffic. Don't let this cause another uproar."

Both bowed, Shockwave a bit deeper than his counterpart. "I will see to it myself, my liege."

"Good." On that note, Megatron turned and transformed, shooting towards the skyline with Tweety buckled down securely. The femme looked back towards the crevasse growing smaller in the distance, and she knew that it would not be the last she saw or heard of it.


	8. I-D-R

**WARNINGS:** Violence, tension, slavery, general uncomfortableness if you're squeamish, I guess.

 **SEE FIRST CHAPTER FOR DISCLAIMER**

* * *

Tweety's eyes were glued to Megatron all morning in Command. As news circulated fast amongst the ranks, almost all officers and Decepticons were tense. The warlord snapped easily, left for breaks often, and threw almost all of his work onto his secretary's desk. She had a feeling if she would be dealing with the temperamental warlord this evening as well. She visibly shrunk at the thought.

And to add to her stress, she often found Darren staring at her. And every time she caught him, he would jump, startled, and quickly look away. He hovered in his own mess of datapads and books in the playpen, occasionally whispering to Soundwave when he walked by. Whenever she looked to him, she envied his usefulness. It lead to an easy relationship with Soundwave, and although she admits in the past few weeks she felt she had begun to relax around Megatron, she still felt as if he had no respect for her. And by the way Soundwave took tablets from Darren and quickly incorporated them into his presentations, she believed the silent mech very much respected his charge.

And she could not for the life of her understand why Darren was staring at her with lost puppy eyes when she wasn't looking. She _believed_ things had been smoothed over between them since the weekend brunch, but apparently her outburst at the party would have residual effects that she would have to work at to fix. She huffed against her own holds of blankets and trinkets, watching work a distance away. His sensitivities were confusing and irritating; she honestly did not understand why Darren cared so much. Yes, she had been rude and unfair, she now saw that. But why let it bother him so inccessantly? Why did he even _want_ to befriend her in the first place?

As she watched him, giggles erupted from the other side of the playpen. They had a sparse crowd today, only around ten pets in the pen. She watched his head flick up at the sound, looking longingly towards Marcus and his group. Tristan was chasing a dark-skinned girl around, and Poppy sat in their mess of blankets as another girl braided her hair. And only a stones throw away from her Darren sat quietly by himself, surrounded by his important work as the others played. And she suddenly felt so stupid to not realize that his working relationship with his owner came at a price, a perhaps rather costly one in their lonely world.

She laid down on her back, book forgotten as she stared at the ceiling. When Darren had first met her he had seen a way out of his isolation from the other pets, an isolation Marcus - in his jealous, competitive ways - likely caused. And her only reason for rejecting him was a spur of the moment decision she made when the outcome of a small quarrel wasn't perfect. She wanted to smack both herself and Marcus.

But, she knew the only way to really make a difference in her error was to talk to Darren. She turned her head towards the boy, brow furrowed. _Well,_ she sighed. _I should just get it over with - sooner rather than later._

Sitting up, she hesitated after her first few steps, face scrunched distastefully. But with a great huff, she continued on her way, edging closer to Darren's pallet. She held her hands together as she approached, knuckles white. When she stopped, she realized she likely had a rather owlish expression. She tried to force her eyes to dim to an appropriate size, but she was never very good at controlling her expressions.

After a few moments of wait she coughed politely. Darren looked up, his eyes brightening considerably. She barely met his gaze, looking towards the far wall as if a great commotion was occurring in the brickwork. Again, it was rather silent, until Darren cleared his throat.

"Oh. Well hi." And after that, more silence. Darren blinked up at Tweety with an increasingly owlish look; Tweety suddenly realized that the young man's behavior of late was what could be classified as _moody._ She internally sighed. Emotions were too pesky.

"I wanted to say… I'm sorry. For torquing off on you." His face was neutral, but she could detect the slightest brightening of his eyes. "It was uncalled for. I was just upset about Marcus harassing me."

The young male digested this slowly. But then, he smiled, standing up. "You wanna go beat the shit out of him?"

Tweety didn't realize what about the statement shocked her more: that Darren proposed they attack the head of their very small, reclusive society without due reason or that this was the first time Darren had cursed in front of her. Either way, by the kindness showing full brilliance on his face, she knew she had been forgiven.

She grinned. "Let's."

* * *

"Would you care to explain why you threw trail-mix at the seeker's humans?"

"Old vendetta. Human politics you wouldn't understand."

"Ah. I see. But I would hope that squeaky disturbance that Marcus offered won't become a common occurrence."

"Not at all." Tweety sighed, swaying with Megatron's footsteps. She examined her nails for nut remnants when something hit her.

"So… what's going to happen with the fissure?"

Megatron looked over his shoulder at his charge as they walked from Command. He honestly had had enough of work related topics, but her tone of voice was so curious he couldn't exactly snap at her. Sighing deeply, he looked back towards the pathway between buildings. Not many Cybertronians wandered here in the alleyways, so they had some privacy.

"I don't think anything will come of it." He grumbled, watching a turborat scurry behind a trash compactor. "Cybertron's an old planet, and it's likely to shift from time to time. And Shockwave was right. Starscream doesn't always keep a tight enough leash on his seekers, so they could have overlooked the fissure through a number of ways."

And there he ended it, optics set forward. Tweety contemplated those thoughts, eyeing her master. Though his tone was final, she pushed the issue. "But how could that have been possible? I don't think Starscream is _that_ lazy. What if it did appear overnight? The rapid change of terrain would no doubt cause concern."

His optics darted to her, glowing red. "Don't poke your nose where it doesn't belong, human. Our world doesn't concern you and doesn't need your opinion."

She huffed, hunkering down slowly, as if she was melting.

Though, she thought with a small smile, she could worry over where they were going. Sitting up, she spotted more than a few mechs ducking out of sight when Megatron's form loomed closer. It wasn't even quite about _who_ Megatron was, she noticed, but rather his stranger's intrusion.

"Where are we going?" Her question went unanswered for a while, and she realized that this habit of his was starting to irritate her when she had to check her huff.

Megatron's eyes roved, his steps pausing occasionally as he assessed alley corners and listened for danger. "You'll see."

Tweety's form was stiff, her fingers wringing together. It was hard to not take his vagueness as a bad omen.

On he continued, strides carrying him further into the ghetto of Iacon. They emerged from the alleys into the daylight. The sparse crowds dispersed at the sight of Megatron. A femme plunged into a doorway, and a mechling clad in scanty armor watched alluringly, flanked by a pimp. The lord paid no mind, as usual; his focus was intently on a shop down the rough pavement.

Tweety sat up straighter, straining to see the shop's signs. _Music from Earth_ was emblazoned above the doorway, pasted clips of old music icons from the 21st century and before along every window. She stopped and stared at the imagery, noting with coming indifference that she was beginning to view her familiarity with such things as normal.

Megatron stepped into the open doorway, and he stood tall in the high headroom. The clerk behind the counter popped up like a jack-in-the-box, his movements quick and his optics bright.

"Lord Megatron," he bowed, "I'm so happy you've made an appointment with us. Please follow me to the back."

Tweety listened to the shopkeeper's higher caste lilt with interest and his expertly shined plating caught her eye as well. He had to have been from before the war, his mannerisms reminisce of the cultures of Towers mechs. She watched his back as her master followed him, noting the two long, old wounds in his armor. She realized they were once wings.

She smelled it before she saw it; the wood finish emanating from everything in the room. Two workbenches sat on either wall of the small wood shop, strings, hammers, ivory and many tiny tools lain on each. She felt the attention shift to her immediately when she saw them.

Human-sized, perfect little pianos sat on a shelf along the back wall. She noted somewhere in the back of her mind that they were not the only instruments being made in this shop: guitars, drums, flutes, and a number of other instruments appeared to be of their forte. Her first immediate thought was bewilderment. How could a shop on Cybertron make it selling human music and making human-sized instruments? And why had Megatron brought her here?

She sighed, leaning against Megatron's shoulder armor spike. He could only mean to buy her an instrument.

"Do you have anything from earth?" She guessed aloud, unable to help but eye what appeared to be a refurbished Baldwin sitting on the edge of the shelf. The shopkeeper gracefully picked the instrument up and set in on an open table, where Megatron also set Tweety down.

"Has it been tuned?" She inquired, moving around the wooden piece. Her hand glided over the smooth finish, stopping to pick at a bump or two were something had gouged the wood. Sitting down, she ran through some scales and five-finger exercises, humming quietly with the notes.

Megatron watched with interest. His face contorted into a semblance of a smile when he reached down to rest his hand near her. "Is this one satisfactory, my human?"

She nodded absently, eyes not really showing recognition until she stopped a few moments later. Her hands suddenly levitated off the piano, as if they hurt to the touch. She held them there aloft as she looked down. And then she stood up and stared at the keys.

Megatron watched quietly, and somewhere behind him the shopkeeper tried to maintain a respectful distance but also observe. A few more moments went by before Megatron interrupted her trance. "Human?… Tweety."

She started at her name, looking up at him, and then finally returning her hands to her side. She stared at it a bit longer. "I don't want a piano."

Megatron waited a few moments, then leaned forward. "Excuse me?"

"I don't need a piano." She rephrased, looking into his eyes. He saw something hidden behind her stony exterior.

"You will get a piano, today, so you can play for me." Megatron reaffirmed. Irritation lingered in his optics, daring her to challenge him. Still staring at Tweety, he motioned to the piano and barked at the shopkeeper to prepare it for travel. But neither him nor his charge really noticed as the wooden instrument disappeared and they were left alone in the room.

Tweety looked away first, shuffling her arms from loose to crossed and back. Megatron's eyes tracked her movements, noting her stroking her fingers. Just as he was about to say something the shopkeeper returned, beckoning them to the front. The two sat for a moment, unsure, until he scooped her up and followed the tradesmech.

* * *

It was very quiet in the dining room, Megatron seated at the head chair and the girl not very far from him. Tweety stared at the piano as if it was offensive. Megatron stared at her as if she was crazy.

The mech - despite his efforts both great and small - could not figure out why she suddenly hated the idea of having one in the home. He genuinely thought he was giving his pet a well-thought gift when he took her to the store. But here she was, after a silent and thankless ride back home with the instrument in tow, staring at the lonesome object with something akin to loathing.

He leaned forward with his controlled exhale, settling his elbows on the tabletop. Tweety did not so much as flinch, sitting ramrod straight a few feet ahead of him. He originally had set her down so she could begin playing for him, but when five minutes had passed and she was still sitting silently, he realized she had no intention of doing so.

"Do you think you're going to play?" The question came out as a growl, and the message was obvious - he was not inquiring of her intentions, but threatening.

She sat still few moments, not even a twitch to show she had heard him. His anger rose further, and he stood, slamming his chair back. "What do you think you're _doing?_ I have offered you a perfect present, tailored to your needs, and you deem it unnecessary to even _acknowledge?_ "

His fist raised, and then she flinched. His whole body shook with his rage, before he threw the raised arm down and stormed about the house. Tweety could hear his shouts from the other room as he went off on a tangent - words like 'ungrateful,' 'useless,' and 'impossible' being the highlight of his language. Her face, although still staring at the piano, began to soften, her eyes threatening with the sheen of wetness.

She stood up and walked slowly to the edge of the tabletop, wondering if her master would ever come back to get her tonight. It may have been a blessing if he didn't for his anger could last hours, and she knew first hand the extent of what he could do when displeased.

But she didn't stand there long before she felt his looming body shake the floor as he approached, and then he stood in the doorway. His face was dark, his eyes still enraged, but by some miracle he seemed content to just watch each other. She didn't shuffle or fidget under his gaze. He realized then that the biggest reason for his anger was confusion.

Her face was sad, but otherwise unreadable. Her eyes were forlorn as if she mourned for someone or something, her hands slack at her sides. He felt a sense of reasoning take over him, a small voice telling him he was missing something and that he didn't understand. And his spark barked back, _Don't understand_ what?

In moments of internal strife, Megatron almost felt a brief disconnect in his body, so he was unaware but not surprised when he found himself on his favorite couch with Tweety sitting on the coffee table. She had sat there so many times before at this point - almost a month had gone by between them, and he still felt like he knew so little of her.

And perhaps that was just the problem. "I would think someone who played would enjoy a piano in the house," he ventured, his voice still angry - still hurt.

She seemed to sense it then, the feelings that Megatron might not have even realized in his own spark. Her eyes softened marginally, and she averted her eyes shyly, unsure where to begin. Her hands folded and unfolded several times before she spoke. "It's… Not that…"

"Then _what is it?_ " He growled, fists clenching as he leaned over her. "Why don't you just _tell me_ what you want, Tweety? I have been a generous and forgiving master, but you have been nothing but an ungrateful wretch of a pet! Why shouldn't I just toss you away, like every other worn-out toy?"

She was still and small for a few moments more, and Megatron saw the shadow brewing beneath her hunched shoulders. She looked up, eyes passionate, hands clenched tight. "Because you don't _get it,_ Megatron. You don't understand equality. You don't have the slightest concept of what could and _would_ make me happy."

"Then enlighten me, roach." He spat back, arms crossed and waiting.

Her eyes brimmed with tears, looking down at her hands and stroking them over. As his anger reached new heights at her silence, reason was washed out. He was mad, and that made him bold.

"What?" He mocked. "What? What would make you happy? The rebellion you've spoken of in the past? The ones you _dream_ about?"

She looked up, mortified. He continued, glee in his optics and his grin sinister. "Oh yes, I hear them. I hear them all. Your shouts and pleas do so often wake me up in the night. And don't think for one moment I didn't wonder to myself, 'Why is she so _secretive?_ Why doesn't she ever offer anything up about herself?'"

"You never say anything about yourself either," she jumped to defend, but they both knew it only made her look all the more guilty. Megatron stood, circling the table with his hands flexed at his sides, ready to strike.

"Then fine! My creators names were Jagged and Deadmouth. I was born in the lowest districts of Kaon and sent to work in the mines until I was bought by a ringmaster to be a gladiator. Who were your creators, Tweety? Where were you sparked? Where were you raised?"

At her silence, he shook, laughing. "Is your name even _Tweety?_ Or was that the name your _rebellion_ gave you?"

Still silent, head hung low, so his voice rose further. "Who were your creators?" Still more silence, so again: "Who were your parents?"

She just seemed to shrink further. He shook with rage.

"ANSWER me!"

Tweety whimpered at his outburst, saying something so quietly not even his advanced audios could hear. _"What?"_ He demanded.

She took in a steadying breath, her shoulders trembling. "I-I don't know."

"Then where were you raised?"

She sighed, looking up, face wet. "I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't-"

"MEGATRON, it's just that! _I don't know! I don't remember!_ "

An that made him stop. the air changed, his face frozen in a snarl. She was openly sobbing now, hands holding her face.

He realized somewhere in the conversation he had loomed closer than necessary even in his opinion, so he took a step back to reassess. "What do you mean… _you don't know?"_ His words may have still held fire, but he was much more cautious. His optics followed her tears closely.

She hiccuped her way through her reply. "I-I don't… I d-don't remember a-an-ny-thing." She paused, looking down at her snotty shirt and sniffling loudly. Megatron knelt, trying to meet her optics to look for deceit. She looked back up with clear eyes.

"I woke up one day in the badlands about two years ago. That's all I know about my past." Both she and Megatron were frozen in the following silence, unsure of what to do or what to say. She stroked her hands softly and watched as his optics made small movements to track her features and movements. She always knew he was hard to read, but he was practically featureless in that moment.

Eventually he stood, walking away from the living area into another part of the house. She waited in suffocating silence for him to come back as the tremors of his steps faded.

But as minutes turned into hours, she wondered if he planned on leaving her there for the night. After it had long gone dark, she was woken by the still-apparent shadow of her master looming far overhead.

Staring up at his glowing red optics with wide eyes, she watched him hold out his hand. "Come with me."

* * *

 **A/N:** Hello all!

I decided I'm going to put author's notes at the end of chapters from now on. I don't think it's so distracting that way. You're all here for the story, anyways. :)

I cannot say enough apologies to make up for the delay. This chapter sat for a few months, waiting for me to edit it. The last scene was so daunting, the dynamics of Megs and Tweets argument so deep and complex, and even after me pouring over it, I'm still not entirely happy with it. I'm just done looking at it, so here it is.

I had a pretty big case of writer's block for this story. But after looking at it thoroughly and reading each and every one of y'alls lovely reviews, it reignited my passion. I don't feel like this story it hopeless anymore. It has a destination I made up over a year ago now (wow, that makes me feel like a lazy bum XD), and I'm determined to get there. I am thinking seriously about my future, and I want writing to be in it, whether as my main income or as a side job. I am saving up money for a serious writing machine, so finger's crossed! That will probably also help the ordeal that uploading chapters has become. I have no idea what happened - suddenly, uploading from my iPad became IMPOSSIBLE. As is, I'm emailing completed chapters over to an old, over-heating laptop, converting them to RTF, and then uploading them to FF. To say the least, it's an ordeal. I'm pretty set on a 11" Mac Air, and if any of you have suggestions for different computers, operating systems, apps, ect, I'd be happy to hear! :)

Again, THANK YOU! You are all PERFECT! I cannot thank you enough. Your support is amazing and so inspiring! I read every single one of your reviews with absolute glee. And to AshasCadence, WOW! Thank you for wrangling me another reader. I really appreciate it! :)

I hope y'all enjoy. On to new horizons! :)


	9. The Brain Rape and the Sister

**WARNINGS: Frightening scenes, mild gore, intense scenes, squeamish stuff.**

 **SEE FIRST CHAPTER FOR DISCLAIMER.**

* * *

Terror griped her. She knew Megatron knew. He watched her throughout the flight to wherever they had gone. Even if she couldn't see his eyes, she still _felt_ his stare. Distrustful, angry - angry beyond all belief. If Megatron was past words, something inside him had snapped. She wrung her hands in the silence of his cab. As the seat beneath her grew warmer and warmer she wondered if she was going to live through the night.

He touched down minutes after they took off, so she knew they hadn't gone far. But she wasn't sure what to do with the information. He transformed, the jostling metal around her familiar but still frightening in that moment. She looked up and tried to meet his eyes for a feel of his mood. But he refused to look at her, striding off the tarmac they had landed on and into the hood of an overhang off a building.

The hallways were dark, seething with the hiss and click of machinery. Some of the devices were attached to the walls; others, moving about the floor. The glow of bio-lights and energies bathed her and Megatron in a shocking green, his red optics boring into the dim and din.

Even in the darkness, she saw the tell-tale movements and glows of Shockwave's "experiments." A drone, clicking along on eight legs, skittered down the hall past them. Megatron didn't bother to sidestep it and it hopped onto the wall to crawl past. She jumped back at the sudden movement, feeling her heart leap to her throat. It continued along as she watched it, but once Megatron was far enough away, she saw it look back, sharing her gaze. Six eyes blinked in tandem, a short appendage from it's mouth dripping saliva.

As she watched the rooms fly past them, she swore she saw figures in the dark - Cybertronian figures, and when they passed, one's head whipped up. She could only see his eyes. One blue orb bored into her, an Autobot, she knew. The other optic flickered dimly.

"Wait!" A voice, distinctly male. She shuddered against Megatron's plating at the lonesome cry. "WAIT! Who are you? Help! Help us! Don't…" She covered her face as a foul smell assaulted her; ammonia, perhaps, and she saw Megatron flinch too. His face turned from angry to disguised in an instant. She knew that smell; it was in the badlands every once in a while. The Cybertronian's lifeblood often smelled of ammonia.

Megatron's steps moved faster and soon the mech was out of earshot. But his wordless howls still echoed down the hallways, chasing after Tweety's ears. She held back a sob, eyes shimmering in the green glow.

She was preparing to beg when they turned, entering a room. Her breath heaved and weighed her, her fingers clutching onto Megatron's fingers. He paid her little mind. Walking up a few small steps onto a plateau, she was aware of someone else in the darkness.

Shockwave emerged, his lone optic gleaming in the darkness as it bobbed in deference to his lord. "Lord Megatron. I have readied the cortical physic patch."

She had heard of the scientist, but none of the stories could predict the horror of his visage. Standing to Megatron's shoulders, one lone optic gleamed at her blankly. At the moment, one hand was a cannon, while the other held scalpels and tools, serrated and crooked to wicked shapes. Her eyes widened, fixed to the tools.

 _A patch?_ Her mind raced. He wasn't going to kill her? It dawned on her that, yes, he would have done that back at Darkmount. If he was going to kill her, he wouldn't be taking her to this strange place - Shockwave's laboratory. Despite that comforting revelation, her relief was short-lived. Shockwave's practice of science was infamously dark and macabre. He was the father of genetic alteration after years of study on the human race. She knows many humans died in his experiments; some of her contemporaries were lost to them. She could still see hollow eyes staring at her, mutilated flesh blended with metal and glowing fluids radiating in darkness.

She shook off the thoughts. Dwelling on such old memories only heightened her panic, and the fact they planned to do a physic patch was of little comfort. Shockwave had recently developed this technology to work cross-species. But the exact procedure was a mystery to her, and when it came to Shockwave, mysteries could be worse than death.

She lurched forward, unprepared, when Megatron moved again. He squeezed his hand around her, setting her down with little of the gentleness that he had learned in the past weeks. She took to her feet almost immediately, head twisting and spinning about. She stopped her frantic search when she saw what she had been expecting: The Chair

Made of of metal with wires and tubes sprouted from the frame like a desecrated corpse, it smelled sterile, a contrast to the dark brown stains lining the seat and armrests. A dark helmet hovered above it, her imagination running wild. How would they infiltrate her neurons? Through needles, perhaps?

Sucking in a breath, her face trembled, threatening to fall apart. Her dreads whipped over her shoulder when she spun around to face the two mechs who had been watching her. A standoff ensued while they made their intention clear, staring towards her, waiting. She would have mistaken it for patience had she not known the familiar blaze in Megatron's optics, lit by the ominous glow thrumming beneath their feet. She paled further underneath his critical anger.

"You don't have to do this," her voice quavered, flat and bleary with realization. They stared back, daring her to make a move. She saw his gaze go to her bent knees and hands held poised at her sides. Her crouch was ready for flight - something only trained badlanders would know. _Or a trained spy,_ she knew he thought. The glare in his optics said it all, and she realized she had misspoke. She had to do this, whatever it entailed. Or he would kill her.

Fear stabbed her through the heart as Megatron's hand advanced towards her, claws reaching out to touch her. She fled, scurrying for the end of the table before Megatron's fist slammed in front of her. The tabletop beneath her feet quaked, and she fell backwards. Her feet hung in the divot made by his force.

"Don't, Tweety," he snarled, voice a low rasp. It trembled with the strength of his fury. "Don't make me kill you, human. I am not in the mood for our games."

She stood, shaking from the tips of her fingers to the arch of her ankles. Spittle hung on her lip, and her tears now flowed freely. She looked up at Shockwave. He stared, passive.

 _I have no other choice._ With a choked back sob, she surrendered.

She turned towards the chair, Shockwave's steps mirroring her own as she approached it. The scientist took position somewhere behind her as she sat down. The coldness of the chair sent chills across her back when it met her bare thighs. She looked down at her shorts, reminiscing. She remembered how good it felt to have the wind on them when only hours ago, she chased Marcus with Darren at her heels. And then, a desire flared, shocking her: to have his gentle smile somewhere nearby.

Her thoughts were overlapped by the clicks and whirs behind her, and then around her. The chair thrummed to life with a long beep. The bowl descended onto her head. Before she could register what was happening, something large and sharp plunged into her neck with a swift, clean movement. Pain flared along her spine with a _zap_ that moved into her brain. She shouted, then gasped for air, trying to remain in control. A numb feeling took over her back. She wondered if she was paralyzed, but too scared to move. Her vision swam with panic. She felt her breaths coming faster and faster while her pupils shrunk to pinpricks.

Tweety flicked her eyes up through her grimacing to see her master's ugly smirk. She tried to gulp, but her throat felt dry. Megatron approached his own chair. Her eyes bulged with her terror, her breaths coming in ragged heaves.

"Is there any likelihood that I would be able to see her amnesiac memories?" Megatron's snapped at Shockwave. He turned to face his lord.

"No, not likely." Shockwave seemed to be thinking - his eye didn't move, but she saw his head tilt marginally. "I have never conducted trials involving amnesiac subjects. M'lord, that would be our farthest concern, however. With such unlikelihood that you will see what you intend to, it may be best not to risk your sanity. I cannot promise-"

"Silence!" Megatron's voice boomed across the lab, reverberating off the table into Tweety's ears. It was the only thing she could clearly hear at that point. He went on, but her senses had begun to lock up. Her breaths came shallow. Her heartbeat was the only thing on her mind.

"Wait!" She shouted, the action jarring the needles inserted into her spine. She cried out again. Pain shot and spread into every limb from her neck down. The numbness infected her further, and she had to check if she still had legs. "Wait," and this time her voice was a drawl, her head slowly lolling to the side. She heard a hiss, and fluid moved into her, sending a cold chill running through her body. Going limper by the moment, she felt the fight leave her.

"Wait..." She cried, her eyelids falling closed. Moments later, she felt - not heard, _felt_ \- Megatron's cackle echo within her, dark with promise.

* * *

The first thing Megatron noticed when descending into her head was this:

It was chaos.

A void, so colorful and vivid it hurt. She was nowhere and everywhere at once - in the floor, the ceiling, the very atmosphere was pocked with her particles. The entire place pulsed with her essence, and with something else. He identified it as pure, unadulterated panic.

"Tweety!" He shouted. His mind spun, his hands going to his helm. _Never_ had a patch felt like this; his blunder moved over him with a shallow ache. Why hadn't he listened to Shockwave? Optics rolled back in his head with a fresh wash of horror from the girl. Everything twirled in a kaleidoscope of images, feelings, senses. He looked about for an anchor, a thought to latch onto. At the core of the swarm was a sensation that he was unsure of origin, but he took it. Grasping it firmly, when a feeling, this thing, _breathing_ filled his chest, he almost vomited with the intensity. Back and forth he felt her lungs moving, rapidly. In tandem two organs he had never had suddenly seemed to be his very own, and the awareness was revolting.

"Tweety!" He called again, trying to find her avatar in the landscape of nothing and everything. "Tweety! Stop this at once!"

She didn't respond. Going to his knees, clutching his breastplate, he looked upwards towards the heavens. "Shockwave! Drug her _more!"_

After but an instant, he felt a difference. Things began to calm down. Her breathing was suddenly numbed, as if he had numbed himself. Her thoughts moved about, erratic, but sluggish. He sighed.

"Tweety." His voice carried into the void a bit softer this time, but still demanding. His armor gleamed with the colors dancing about him. His optics were weary. "Show yourself."

Several beats later, she emerged from the fog. Slick with sweat, her dreads clung to her limp frame, her eyes looking forward in a daze. She stopped at his feet.

Another silence - disrupted only by the movement around them, the swishes and whispers of activity. He stood quietly, taking it in. He had said it before, but he would say it again: this had been _nothing_ like any other patch, such as Starscream's. Revolted, and slightly uncertain, he looked down at Tweety.

She stared up solemnly. Seeing her reminded him of the ghost-like quality of her - war-torn, bedraggled, like a refugee even after the weight she had put on in the last several weeks. She shivered underneath his hard gaze as he stared. Afterwards, he contented himself with looking about, her gaze following his as he appraised the blackness and then rounded back to her, and her to himself.

He held back a sigh, apprehensive to continue after a taste of what she could give without even trying. Her mind was a dangerous place. He understood that now.

"Take me to your past." He almost spat the words, concentrating more on getting them out than trying to demand of her.

She shuffled closer, that hollow look still in her eyes. The silence stretched long enough for Megatron to open his mouth but just then she spoke. "You're going to have to be more specific."

Megatron glared hard. "You're going to _tell me the truth!"_ His voice went off into the blackness around them and didn't come back. It made his words seem meaningless, which made him angrier.

He closed the distance, leaning down in a crouch and snarling in her face. "Nothing, and I mean _nothing_ is going to stop me from finding whatever it is you're hiding."

She didn't respond. Gave nothing but a shiver. And again, it only made him more furious.

He looked up. "Shockwave! Show me what I need to know! Now!"

A pause, lasting only a few seconds, and suddenly the world turned again. She braced herself on her knees, and then buckled, falling to the floor and looking agape at Megatron. He didn't deem to help her. His eyes scanned the scene, looking for change, and in mere moments he realized she was gone.

And then he looked up again and saw everything was different. In fact, he was different. It was dark, wherever he was. If it wasn't for the lack of concrete vision he believed he would have again been overwhelmed by her intense senses. Movement was the right word, honestly, for how it all felt. Like his processor had left his body and had begun floating away from him - carrying his thoughts with it.

Another thing was that his pedes were _excruciating._ Every step this body took forward had him groaning out, but no words left him. He was in her body, he realized, in her dream, in her memory. He was simply a passenger. It was infuriating that he had to feel her pain as well.

She moved across the badlands in darkness. As the night sky rotated overhead, stars bright against the blackness, she stumbled a time or two on her blazing feet, and Megatron latched onto one line of thought: _pain pain pain_. He tried to ignore all else. He was a warrior, and he could handle pain, just not her ever-spinning whirl of thoughts.

She paused at some point. Her gaze turned and he watched her take in the open valley, the floor reflective, trees and buildings appearing like they had been molded over with liquid tin. Something shifted within her, something like _loss - sad - lonely,_ and she was moving on at her achingly slow pace.

Her journey continued for awhile. He almost didn't notice when the second pain started - something in her groin, and he could hear her gasp with each step above the whistle of the wind. Soon enough, she was crawling, and sooner then she was laying on the ground in the open. Tears blurred her vision as she looked down. Her hands folded back her coverings and drew back with blood on them.

Megatron here realized that this must have been after her hysterectomy, and shortly after her escape. Perhaps mere hours. He was about to shout to Shockwave to take him someplace important before he heard it. _Boom._

Their shared vision tipped and spun, landing to be eye-level with the horizon. _Boom._ As she laid on her back he wondered what exactly he was looking at; further on, he swore he saw lights bobbing in the distance through her hazy gaze. Long after he realized what it was, the past version of Tweety did. _Boom._ She scrambled, heaving herself forward, crawling past the skyline down towards a small hovel she could hide in. _Boom._

The space was cramped, and she scrambled to tuck her limbs from sight. Megatron felt her lungs hitch tighter and tighter with each rumble in the distance, a signal of what was coming. _Boom._ The ceiling shook, letting debris fall. A shadow, faint in the night, drew over the ground they could see. Megatron felt his own mind stalling up with trepidation.

All at once, just as her sobs began to sound and her vision blur, he realized he had seen enough. But he was far too enraptured to call for Shockwave, even if he knew how in this state. A spotlight roved about the pale metal. She shivered as it drew closer to her and then passed above them. The tips of her fingers were illuminated momentarily, making her snatch her hand against her chest.

And then, a voice. "We know you're there."

Megatron felt the very, very odd sensation of her dry throat bobbing in a gulp. She didn't respond. He heard the hiss and hum of the machine above them, and Megatron's mind couldn't help but try to pick the puzzle apart. Was it slavers, truly? What exactly _was_ it?

He only got a beat or two to think before the ground was suddenly upended. With a thud, they were in the air. Dirt flew around them. The spotted sky tipped and spun before they slammed back down to the earth. Pain erupted everywhere - she had landed on her side, but Megatron felt as if his body was on _fire._

Through bleary vision, Megatron saw what she saw as she looked up at the creature. Standing tall above them was a six-legged mass of slick metal and pistons, moving downwards, towards them, coming closer until it's cockpit was staring right at her. It stared for a moment before she was snatched up. Megatron immediately recognized it as one of theirs' - a tank designed to navigate Earth's landscape.

Her head lolled to the side, staring at the claw clutching her. Megatron's mind was completely wrapped in the situation before he realized, _What does this even mean?_

And so, he stopped it.

"Shockwave," his voice boomed, the memory suddenly fading. "Why… did you take us here?"

The scientist was silent for awhile. Slowly, Megatron felt the realm around him change. Tweety was at his feet. The shadow around them shimmered into place.

"Well?" He demanded, turning a circle and gesturing above.

"There's… not enough information to take you to specific memories, m'lord."

Shockwave's voice was quiet. Tweety seemed disoriented by his speech; she looked around, stumbling to the floor. Megatron didn't mind her.

"What do you _mean?"_ His voice was like iron.

Shockwave hesitated. "There… we… her memory is not logically catalogued like a Cybertronians. It's like picking them blind."

Megatron blew a hot puff of exhaust over Tweety, staring down at her. "Then we must extract what we need to know from _you_."

She wobbled her way to a stand. He barked, "Show me what I want to know."

She grinned. "Like I said before," a pant, "… you're going to have to be more specific than that."

"I don't NEED to be specific!" He roared. "I want _answers!_ Where are you from, what is your purpose, who sent you, who _are you?!"_

Her forced smile suddenly disappeared. She paused, looking up. "Let me show you."

Too soon, the universe began to spin again. Pain was sent forth like a tidal wave, crash after crash as he moved from moment to moment, images spinning too fast, senses coming too rapidly. He blindly moved to shut off his receptors, all of his senses, but in this world, he couldn't. She seemed to not even understand what she was doing to him. She flipped through each memory like she was browsing a page in a catalogue, stopping momentarily to check a thought or see something someone said. But otherwise, the torture felt like eternity to Megatron.

Finally, she stopped. They landed somewhere before - somewhere… strangely dark. Time seemed so odd, here in this place, and if he thought her mind-space was non-concrete in the patch, this was dismal. It took a few moments to realize that she was _dreaming._

Little pianos. Voices, disembodied - howls, chatter beyond that, and a single face that struck him with a force it almost knocked him off his feet. The Autobot scout, the voiceless Bumblebee. His big blue optics haunted her, apparently, and he felt her fear and sadness follow her everywhere his face was. And when Megatron turned his attention to the voices, why, he almost could place them. Just perhaps-

Then she woke up.

Gasping, breathless, to hisses and whirrs and a persistent beeping. She was trapped inside a shell of some kind. Skylight dripped from above, spots of it dotting a console, frosty and incoherent. She looked up. An aged pane of glass showed the outside sky.

Moving up, she maneuvered a hand in the tight quarters to place a palm against it. Next, she moved her attention to the beeping noise. Everything was so bleary, so uncertain, Megatron wasn't sure exactly what she did to get out of the pod, nor how she found herself sitting on her knees in the sunlight, tears streaming down her face as she looked out at the world. Talking to herself, like an interrogator. _Where are you? Who are you? What happened?_ Her angry voice blubbering all the way as she trudged forward and past metal-glazed houses and cars, streets and signs. Wildlife standing frozen in the street. _People._ He heard her say to herself. _Oh, the people…_

She touched a man's horrified face, stopping to return his gape. That's when she seemed to snap.

Just as she reached for a now weapon-like cane laying next to an old man, thoughts screaming _wrong-intent-remove,_ Tweety took Megatron out. Megatron thought about yelling at Shockwave for allowing the human to commandeer the patch, but something stopped him. Her feelings, fresh and raw in the memory, woke something he had long since buried. What she said, the way she felt, was familiar. Eerily so. He had had the same feelings leaving and returning to Cybertron, watching his homeland lay in a desecrated state.

He turned on the human, shoulders hiked, but optics open. "What… does that mean?"

She seemed to be getting weaker by the moment. "What does… what mean? What… you saw?"

He bored into her unhesitatingly. "You mourned for your homeland. Why?"

"Why?" She gasped, almost choked, on the word. "Why? Why did you? Why-" a moment for air, "… did _any_ of you? Because it's _home!_ It's… it's your birthplace! You really need that _explained_ to you?"

Megatron didn't immediately respond, just stared. Tweety balked back up at him, panting, trying to rise to her feet. Megatron noted that Shockwave was continuing to observe, not interfering, but shuffled the thought away for later analysis.

"What other emotions lie in your busy little mind, I wonder?" He mused, beginning to circle her. "What could you be hiding, dreaming of the scout as you do?"

She paused. "… What?" Her voice cracked, and fell to a knee again.

"The scout!" Megatron spat. "The Autobot Bumblebee! The slave in the marketplace! Don't tell me you don't know who he is, because I know you do."

A pause, too perfectly clueless not to be genuine, was his response. She looked up at him for a moment longer, wobbling and wheezing. "I… the yellow one?"

Megatron stared. "Yes, the _yellow one_." Once more he tried. "Now, what are your plans? What dastardly scheme have you come up with to overthrow me like the many attempts-"

"None!" She shouted, this time making it to her feet with a sudden burst of energy. Megatron felt the very indignation in the air around him - her mind writhed with her emotion, the blackness turning vivid and colorful with intense red. "I don't _have_ any plans! I'm not a spy!"

He stared, considering. "Prove it."

"Why don't _you_ prove it!" She shouted, face flushing. "You're the one throwing accusations, barreling into this place like you know something! Then, go ahead, prove it!"

" _You're_ the one who's dreaming of Autobots." He retorted, venom leeching into his tone. "You're the one speaking of rebellions, vying for freedom, throwing every fit and taking every chance to move towards the mere opportunity of daylight. Why? How could I _not_ be suspicious?"

She fumed red, stamping a foot and eyes glancing in the blackness that was slowly turning, spots turning orange then a sickish yellow. She balled her fists and looked back at him. "I could say that I was traumatized by the slave's beating, hypothetically. Hypothetically, I could say that I heard a lot of talk from drunks in the badlands, and that I picked up their… wilder ideas. Hypothetically."

Megatron leered. "Hypothetically, I could say that you're an agent of some _uprising,_ a resurrection of Prime's regime."

"I could also say that I'm a distraction sent straight from Starscream." She glanced at the ceiling, fingers twitching. "Hypothetically."

"What?" Megatron's face went slack, his voice incredulous. "We weren't-"

"Yeah, we weren't," she smiled. "But I had to do something."

He stared. She stared, the smile growing wider. Megatron's shoulders bristled underneath the strangely palpable observation of Shockwave. He turned away from Tweety, striding off vaguely.

"Why were you in that capsule?" He seemed to mutter, his voice growing steadily stronger as he paced. "Who put you in there, and for what purpose? Why did you wake _then?"_

He stopped, staring at her with the widest, most incredulous expression she had ever seen on him. It was as if Optimus Prime was being resurrected before his eyes.

He began to walk back her way. His hands clasped behind him, his optics growing dark. "There just… isn't enough information."

"Then what are you going to do with me?" She spat, trembling as she sat on the floor.

He looked at her solemnly. "I honestly don't know."

"If I may, Lord Megatron?" Shockwave's droning tone entered again, making Tweety flinch. She raised a hand to her temples to massage them as the scientist continued uninterrupted. "Seeing as she has no access to memories before her wakeup date of approximately two and a half earth years ago, it is safe to say she truly has global amnesia. If she has a derogative given to her prior to this date, she would be unaware of it. And we have seen much of her current memory. It is unlikely that we would have missed anything to do with a uprising."

Megatron was harsh. "Your point?"

"We have no reason to believe she is an Autobot agent."

This hung in the air for a moment. Megatron resumed his pacing. Tweety watched him, her eyes large. He could feel her breath still and could see her hands fidget against the floor. Once he turned to look at her, he could see the terror, the uncertainty, the wait hanging over her head like a guillotine waiting to fall, her mouth hung open in a wordless scream.

It would not do, he decided.

"Shockwave." He ordered. "Bring us up."

* * *

He rose first. Moving his stiff limbs, he felt the last twitches of the patch move through his system. As he flexed his fingers, he noted each individual one, holding back a sigh of relief as he realized how _good_ it felt to be in his own body again. Nothing could compare to his own head, he realized.

Then he turned to inspect the rest of the room. Tweety was taking a bit longer to come around; her grunts and huffs as she struggled to wake were instigated by Shockwave's prodding. She squealed when he removed the needle in her spine. It made Megatron flinch.

"Shockwave," he rushed forward, pulling himself up to full height, "be careful with what is mine. I expect her to have not a mark or blemish from this ordeal."

"Understood, Lord Megatron." The scientist lifted her shirt unceremoniously, swabbing the injection site on her back. As Megatron watched with suspicious optics, he was distracted by Tweety.

She was holding a hand against her mouth, her eyes lit with mirth. He watched her snicker and sputter behind the hand for a moment before barking at her. "What is sofunny?"

She glanced up at him, removing her hand to show a grin. She opened her mouth to speak, but two words in she dissolved into giggles once again.

He stared hard. "Don't make fun of me after I spared your life, human. It is not wise."

"Oh, God, no," she giggled. "I'm not making fun of you."

He leaned forward, sneering. "Then whatever _are_ you doing?"

Several beats passed as her grin turned into a gentle smile, her hands fixing her blouse once more and playing with the hem as she looked up at him. Eventually, she shrugged. "Oh, nothing, I suppose."

She stepped from the chair, bare feet padding her way towards him. She stood in front of him, hands on her hips. She fixed him with an expectant look, lips drawn, eyebrows raised. "Well, isn't the test over with?" And as he was about to ask whatever nonsense she was talking about, "Do I have to get down _by myself?"_

He started, but stopped, mouth a thin line. Raising his servo, he allowed her to clamber on, taking perhaps a bit longer than usual. Despite her cheery attitude, he noticed her struggle, the way her hands shook and her legs wobbled. The patch had worn her thin.

"Shockwave," he addressed, "there wasn't anything containing gluten in the substances you gave her?"

The scientist had his back turned to them. He paused, then turned around from the table. "No, my lord. If I may ask: why?"

The gray warlord waved him off. "She's allergic, or some nonsense. It's late. We will be leaving you now to recharge."

He thought he heard Tweety mumble something along the lines of 'or whatever it is you do in the night,' but ignored the comment. Out the door he went, moving along the same path. Tweety began to loll to the side; the hour was late into her recharge cycle.

"Why?" She whispered. Megatron flicked his eyes to her momentarily, then back ahead of him.

"Why do I keep being questioned this night?" He muttered.

She sat up a bit straighter. "No, really, why?" He looked to her with a questioning glare, and she continued: "Why keep me alive? What do I mean to you?"

"Before? Nothing at all. Now? Now, you are a great mystery, your origin… concerning." He said this as if he was speaking to himself.

"But why not just kill me?" She pressed, her question punctuated by a large yawn. She looked up at Megatron with sleepy eyes. "Why? I'm a potential threat."

"Don't flatter yourself." He scoffed. "You are nothing more than a pet. What _true_ harm can you do to me?"

She smiled. "I can worm my way into your cold, cold spark."

He caught himself from stopping dead in his tracks, but he knew she caught the falter in his gait. He turned his eyes a few shades darker in preparation for his response.

But he stopped himself again, this time, outside Shockwave's complex. They stood on the roof as before, and he took the time to look down at his rapidly fading charge. She opened her eyes to blink up at him. Her face spoke levels of smugness he hadn't even conceived before. He could only sneer back.

"I'll say it for you, since I know it must be hard." Here she sat up, rolling her shoulders in a stretch before facing him fully. "I know you won't admit it, but now, we have something in common."

"What could that possibly be?" He practically flung the words at her, everything but his body leaning into it.

"That we both know what it's like to see our world destroyed." She let her face fall here, staring into her lap. "That's our common ground. The thing that makes it hard, however, is that you've been the one doing the destroying on both counts."

He didn't need the reminder, and his fist slowly clenching around her made that known. "But," she quickly added, "I can't say I can hold either accounts against you. I mean, you got what you wanted in the end. Cybertron, and Earth."

"I don't need flattery."

"Well, I wasn't giving it. I'm simply stating fact. Now can you take me home?"

He again felt some deep need, some desire, that stopped him. He felt so conflicted - one side of him told him to just take her home, and another said something else entirely. He wasn't even sure what to do. He guessed it was part of the reason he allowed her to stay.

He continued towards home. She fell asleep in his cabin smiling.

* * *

A sigh escapes her, then another. Soon, she's tossing and turning in a mini tantrum, staring at Megatron blearily.

"Can't we go home?" She demands. He gives her a glare, stopping in his contemplative pacing.

"I have work to do. Behave." Then, he passed by the human's area. Tweety grumbled, furrowing deeper into her seat. She was insulted by his dismissal. She had the hardest time not glaring at Darren who was proudly seated on Soundwave's knee at the conference table. He was out of sight underneath the tabletop, but that didn't matter. The boy was special, she knew, much more special than her. She felt jealously blossoming in her chest. Tossing her head, she squashed it down, rising to her feet a combing her hands through her dreads. Why did she think about him so much? _He isn't anything but a silly boy,_ she told herself. _I can't be getting feelings, can I?_

The thoughts made her tremble with excitement while also terrifying her senseless. She suddenly decided the whole mental exercise was pointless. She discarded it.

Contemplation in the playpen was becoming Tweety's new pastime, she realized as she stood twisting her dreads and looking at Darren's attentive face. He was currently listening closely to one of Starscream's continuous rambles about the importance of his science factory. He and Soundwave were the only ones present that could manage to look interested. Everyone but Megatron looked bored, and Megatron himself appeared to be thinking of flipping the table.

And round her thoughts went again: _But no, I have to sit over here with the other idiots._ She frowned, huffing and plopping back down in her pallet. Looking at the plain walls and skylights above the windows, she decided she was becoming properly despising of this place. The slate-gray color scheme was something she usually would appreciate. But not in this mood. It made her want to gag.

She laid flat on her back, sights shifted towards the ceiling. There was something to be said about naps, she decided. The badlands had never quite been nap-conducive. Perhaps one thing about captivity was the comfort in knowledge of when one would get their next meal and that one could sleep practically whenever one wanted to.

She moved herself beneath a set of blankets, keeping her eyes shut stubbornly even as some voices began to rise above the quiet bustle. Soon after, she fell into a light sleep. She wasn't quite sure what happened in the next few minutes, or maybe mere moments. But she was soon being roused awake.

And she heard a vaguely familiar voice grumbling somewhere above her. "… -asted human, wake up! Wake up! I don't have time for this!"

She rose slowly, looking up at what she soon realized was an angry seeker glaring down at her. Seeing the sharp, long face, as her vision cleared, she discerned it was Starscream. What did the seeker want with her? He had never even paid her a passing glance. Either way, something wasn't quite right, and she couldn't say exactly what.

"Get _up!"_ He screeched. "Do you not even _realize_ what is going on?!"

She stumbled to her feet, looking around blearily, and then recognizing what was so off. An alarm blared, an almost lazy _whoop, whoop_ sounding throughout the command center. She looked back to Starscream to say something when she was snatched up quite suddenly.

"We are going!" He hissed. "Don't ask why, I don't have time!"

She couldn't immediately respond; the jarring movements his servo made around her left her breathless. She wiggled about in his hand until she dropped to the floor.

He grunted, looking at his hand. Then he looked down. "What are you doing?" He gasped.

But she was already running, bare feet slapping in the empty halls as she went. She heard him rush after her, and felt it, too; his pedes shook the ground beneath her stronger with every step.

Just as she heard the air behind her swish shut, she leapt into a side hallway. He screamed at her, and she kept running.

With enough grit and determination, including doubling back beneath his nose a time or two, she finally lost him. Tweety put her hands to her knees and allowed herself a few moments to breathe. She gingerly placed a hand against her ribs and hissed. She had no doubt that Starscream had made her bruise.

She stood up, looking around. There was no one in the halls but herself - she had not seen or heard anyone while Starscream had pursued her. The only thing that seemed truly alive was the blaring alarm. Her ears had long grown deaf to it, but it still sent chills up her spine to be so alone in a place that was abandoned.

Then she began to question herself. Why did she bolt from Starscream's hand in the first place? She had mostly been eager to get away from his manhandling, as he seemed to have no proficiency in dealing with humans safely. Megatron had roughed her up a time or two through carelessness or naivety, but he had never been anything like Starcream just was. She wondered what that meant about Marcus, and filed it away for later thought.

She began wandering the halls, perusing the rooms. She stopped from time to time to investigate further, but the longer she stayed, the more hurried her search was. The alarm was steadily becoming more unbearable - and she didn't want to consider what the emptiness might feel like without it's constant vigil.

Something, however, made her pause. Down a particularly dark and unused corridor, she paused in front of a door. Her head cocked and her fingers twitched. She stared up at a double-locked door, her gaze shifting to the Cybertronian etched at Transformer eye level: _AUTHORIZATION REQUIRED._

 _How odd,_ she mused, moving closer. She was happy she had been brushing up on some basic symbols and numerals for the native tongues, but she was still very green. She _thought_ that was the translation. But she could be wrong.

She leaned forward, taking a step, then another. Soon she was sliding her fingers along the edges of the door, feeling for drafts and listening for the hum of the computer. Feather-light dust lingered almost everywhere, except for one place. There was much less there, and that is where she slipped in a broken bobby pin plucked from the dreads piled into a bun atop her head.

She worked to find a lock or latch or possibly _anything,_ but there was only so much one could do. The longer she stayed at the door the more absorbed she became until the familiar tremors were right upon her. She looked up and balked. Stumbling, she almost fell to the floor.

"Megatron!" She shouted, trying to bristle. But his angry frown was hard to work under. Somehow, he made her feel guilty in an instant.

"Tweety," he gave his characteristic growl, low and ominous, and then there was a pause. He dragged in a breath, "what are you doing?"

She stared up, blinking a few times. "I- I-" She wasn't quite sure how to explain how she ran away from Starscream. She gaped like a fish for a moment more before launching back, "Where did everyone go?"

"There was a drill. Where is Starscream?" He watched her hesitate, then barked, "Never mind, then. Why haven't you come for me?"

"I was looking for you!" But it's hard to deny the truth when staring at his livid face, so she verbally backpedaled. "I- I mean… I was." She picked her next words carefully, voice clear but soft. "I didn't know what was happening. When I finally got my bearings no one was around."

He huffed, looking down the corridor then back at her. "Well, then what are you doing here? What's so interesting about this door?"

Both of them paused. She betrayed her knowledge when she looked up at the warning first. Following her gaze, he gave her a sideways glance, quirking a brow. She gulped.

"Nothing." She said. "I'm sorry for not finding you first. I'll do better next time."

When he let a few beats pass between them she wondered if there was going to be a next time. Eventually, he gave a long, long sigh, crouching down to his feet. She jumped when his hand moved toward her. But he simply raised a claw to gently chuck her chin.

"Next time, I'll make sure you are debriefed. That was my fault." His optics were a bit dimmer than usual, but nothing else looked different about him. _That rules out that he's sick,_ she decided, trying to understand how he just admitted blame. _I mean, he practically_ apologized, _for Christ's sake._

His hand cupped around her, gently moving her to a seating position on the edge of his palm. Already limp with shock, she stared up at him as he moved her higher and higher. She cocked her head slightly and watched him turn and take them down the hallways towards the entrance of the building. She had to stop staring once he griped at her for impoliteness.

* * *

Darren moved forward slightly, holding his breath. He looked back at Soundwave and Megatron, making sure their masters weren't listening. Deeming the coast clear, he looked back to Tweety.

"So why are you here?"

Tweety grumbled something under her breath that she knew Darren didn't catch, because she didn't want him to. In a strange turn of events, Tweety had deduced that Megatron had decided that her and Darren's 'budding romance' was a beneficial thing, since, as he had put it, they "would make cute sparklings." Tweety was about to round on him with absolute vehemence when she stopped herself. What proceeded was a long, difficult discussion about how humans reproduced, and how she was now unable to. Megatron did not take that well. However, what scared her most was not his sudden repulsion, but the way he turned away and proceeded to mutter on about how perhaps Shockwave could fix that…

Even now, Tweety could feel her master's interested stare as her and Darren sat together on another playdate. She knew that Darren had gotten over his hurt feelings, if the celiac-safe cookies were anything to go by. He had begun his advances again, if with more caution. And with the occasional quip.

"I think I'm here because of what _you_ did, so don't go griping at me." She leaned forward, snatching a mini-sandwich that was _also_ placed on gluten free bread. The thoughtfulness was almost creepy. But she did thoroughly enjoy the homemade cuisine compared to her daily microwave meals. She had never been much of a cook even if Megatron would have let her near an open flame.

"What do you mean?" Darren's back straightened, crossed legs going stiff. "Did he…" A rather long pause where he started and stopped before finishing, "… see?"

She almost laughed listening to him fumble for words. How she hadn't realized he was somewhat lovestruck before had her questioning her intelligence. She sighed, giving him a tired look. "Not then. He saw later. Don't ask anymore questions."

He blinked once or twice. "You just expect me to take that? I have questions, Tweety, lots of them, and I am going to get them answered."

"Not by me."

"Then fine. I'll ask Soundwave. Soundwave knows everything."

"Does he spy on his master?" She was being blatantly disrespectful now — she knew that in every culture speaking while chewing was impolite. "Because if he does, I might need to tell Megatron about that."

"Okay, now we're getting somewhere." He smiled. "So it was private? Just you and Megatron?" She continued to chew. He pressed further, "You and Megatron and _someone else?_ "

She rounded on him, grabbing him by the collar. "I will tell you once, and only once, and you better listen good."

Still held up by her fist, he nodded. She leaned towards his grinning face, voice dipping to a whisper. "He had Shockwave hook us up to a cortical physic patch."

Darren's eyes went blank, then wide. "What?! He-"

She slapped a hand over his mouth and then looked to their masters. Both were now looking towards them. She smiled, releasing Darren and patting his head. "Sorry for the disturbance. He's just a… little excited."

She chuckled at her friend for good measure. Seeming satisfied, Megatron continued pontificating at Soundwave, and the intelligence officer dutifully gave his full attention.

Tweety turned her attention back to Darren, face stern. "Not a word to anyone. Not even Soundwave."

"But he'll just figure it out eventually, anyways," he retorted, mischief making his lilt even more pronounced. She sighed, burying her face in her hands.

"But not from you. That will make me look bad."

"Fine, but now you're telling me _exactly_ what happened."

Tweety looked up, face paling. "It wasn't exactly… interesting. We had an… argument. It ended up with him dragging me to Shockwave."

"But what was the argument about?" Darren leaned forward, his face serious. "I mean, what drove him that far? I know Megatron can be brash - I've seen it. One time, no one was talking, everything was peace and quiet, and _boom!_ Right in the middle of command he shot at Starscream. Shot at him. With his _fusion cannon._ Trust me, I know."

He looked at the warlord, Tweety following his gaze. His voice lowered a decibel. "But… really? You did something to drive him that far?"

Tweety stared for a long while. She blinked a few times, her gaze moving elsewhere. "I…"

Darren leaned forward. "What did you do?"

She felt her palms going sweaty. She flipped her dreads over her shoulders, looking towards Megatron. Her voice was so low he strained to hear it. "I… made him think I was an autobot spy."

Darren froze. Moving back to life, he scooted closer, closing the distance between them. She could hear his breathing. "Really?"

"Really." She gave the hulking gray mass a sideways glance, her fingers twitching in her lap. "I don't think I've ever been more scared in my life."

"But why did he think that?"

Her shoulders slumped inward, and her chin closed closer to her chest. "I…"

"No, it's okay," he stopped her, sitting up straighter. "That… Sorry."

"It's okay." But she didn't answer his question. She noticed how that made him a bit antsy - she saw the disappointment flash in his face for a brief moment before he tried to seem sympathetic again. They sat in silence for a few moments before Darren looked over at her, his eyes in that peculiar state of softness and depth that she remembered seeing them in when she apologized. "Is he- uh, convinced you're not a spy?"

She gave a quick nod, her brows raising. "Yes, yes he is."

He was silent for a few moments more. Then: "What's it like getting patched?"

She at first thought she was going to shiver in repulsion when she thought about the true _feeling_ of getting patched, but sitting there then, she didn't quite have that response. No, she was more or less… _uncaring_ of exactly what it felt like. She was so worried about what had been happening between her and Megatron that during those few minutes, she had not been thinking of the invader inside her brain. She assumed most would obsess with the intrusion. As she contemplated this, looking at Darren, she knew that he must have been one of those people by his trepidation. His breath stilled for those few seconds, face low in sympathy.

"Not… _bad,_ I guess." Tweety ventured, looking up at the ceiling as she spoke. "The worst part was when Shockwave started talking - that hurt. That hurt a _lot,_ for some reason. But I think it's more about what _happens_ inside there that matters, I guess. They drugged me. Apparently human brains are so chaotic - at least chaotic to Cybertronians, since their processors are pretty much big computers with file systems like any old machine - that it can literally drive them mad if they spend too long in there. So Shockwave watched the whole time while Megatron… interrogated. He never found anything to say I really was a…" And her words quieted here as Megatron laughed from the living room, carrying on loudly, "… spy."

Darren still seemed sympathetic, staring down at their feet now. "I can't imagine." Looking up, he stole into her eyes in that way that was so kind, it made Tweety uncomfortable. "I mean… I wouldn't want Soundwave rooting around in my head. Who knows what he'd find? I don't care who you are - badlander or a British runt, I'd think everyone has some secrets, don't you?"

She nodded. "Definitely. I don't know of someone who doesn't have skeletons in their closet."

He paused, cocking his head. "What's that mean?"

She paused too, then laughed. "Oh, it's an American saying, I guess. Means that you have… demons hanging around, y'know? Old problems that are part of the past but that still haunt you."

His eyes went sad. "Heh, yeah. I get that. I've never heard any other American I know say it before, though."

"Well you've probably not been around enough then." She reached for a cookie, leaning back and munching away as if the conversation was over.

But Darren still seemed like he had something to say. Something somber, by the way he held his head and shuffled after her. "I got some of them closet skeletons too, then. Did you know I had a sister?"

Tweety paused processing her cookie, then gave it another few chews, then paused again. "No." She said through her food.

Darren didn't seem to notice her uncertainty. "Yeah. Her name was Clover. She was pretty. Blonde hair and these silver-green eyes. She was a half-sister - we had the same dad. Never got to see him, really, we only learned we were related by chance. That's the way it goes in the compounds."

Tweety had long ago swallowed the bite of her cookie and had rapidly lost interest in the rest she held in her hand. She leaned back in as Darren continued.

"How both her and I ended up there is by my ass of a father's 'kindness,'" Darren looked at her, hurt in his eyes. "In the commercial world, where everyone's a slave, some of the humans think it's a better life to be a pet. Back on Earth, we heard they got better fed, warm places to sleep. It sounded like a ticket out of the dirty camps and piles of shit we were sitting on. So, when my dad got my mom pregnant, he made a deal with the enforcers.

"It's almost a death sentence to any kid born when they're an unauthorized, unplanned accident, and one that's not a "genetically matched" child. Meaning, the scientists overseeing population control didn't pick the parents. Shockwave started those protocols and procedures after he started his research on human genetics. After he started makin' some damn strong lil' babies, Megatron decided they were law. And any kid born outside of those perimeters was to be killed as soon as they were found.

"So, when they found out my mom was pregnant, they tried to stick her with the needle. Y'know, _the_ needle. The one that kills the baby. But dad jumped in right in the middle of the procedure. He was friends with one of the doctors overseeing their sector, and he tried to reason with him. Said I could be sent to the pet breeding compounds. No one would ever know, he reasoned."

"But wait-" She said here, uncertain, "what's the difference between the pet breeding compounds and the breeding facilities your parents were in? And what's a puppy mill?"

"The puppy mills and the pet breeding compounds are the same place." Darren droned on, his voice tired, as if he had explained this a thousand times. "We call them the puppy mills, which is what they are. Puppy mills. The main facilities - the really, really big places they house humans, you would've _had_ to have seen one even in the badlands - that's where the working class population is held. There's hundreds, if not thousands of them, all over the world. I think there's some abadoned ones on the outskirts of the badlands. They tried to farm that place, but it just didn't work.

"Now," he sighed, "where was I? The enforcer listened, when my dad busted in and did what he did, yeah? He put me there after I was born. Eventually, my sister showed up when I was about ten."

"But wait." Tweety raised a single finger, and Darren face palmed. "How could you have ended up in the _same_ puppy mill? Like, really, how?"

"Because Megatron only allows so many humans to be imported, so there's only _one."_ He grumbled a bit and looked at her. "Now will you let me tell you my story and stop being so concerned with the logistics of it all? I don't tell this stuff to everyone, y'know."

She seemed surprised, then sheepish, looking at the floor with a blush and then nodding faintly.

Darren smiled. "I talked to her because she seemed so sad. We got to talking, and it clicked that we were related. I never had heard the story of how my dad 'saved' me when he did what he did, and she's the one who told me. I really don't know if it's all true or not… I almost don't care." Tweety noted how his eyes had suddenly turned dark. "It is what it is."

But he seemed to muster himself up, lifting his head and continuing. "Y'know, I don't know exactly how old she is. I only learned my birthday after Soundwave got me. I guess we don't really care when we're in the compound, don't get to have a party, anyways. But I do think she was a few years younger than me. Maybe she was six or seven when we met. But I never saw her again after she got shipped out about a year before I did. I mean, God — she screamed so loud when they tore her away from me. Tweety, I don't know if you have family that you left in the badlands, but it's the worst feeling you've ever had. I couldn't help but be angry at my father then. He was so careless falling in love with all these women. I never met the man, I don't even know his _name._ But how could he do that? _Twice?"_

Tweety blinked long and hard for several moments. "I don't know, Darren. I really don't."

"I mean, c'mon, Tweety," Darren sighed, blowing hot breath across her arms folded in her lap. "Maybe it's hard for you to see. Maybe I'm just looking for someone to blame, but why couldn't he have just let us _die?_ I have no idea where she is or how she is. And neither does he. She can't be as good off as me - she just _can't._ Didn't he stay up at night after I was born wondering what would happen to me? Didn't he run all the horrible scenarios through? Because I have with my sister. And if he really did all that thinking after I was born, he would have had to know what he was gonna do if he had another _accident._ He would have known he was going to let things lie, and just let his kid go. He would have _known._ So, I can only guess he just forgot us. Completely."

Tweety sat and watched him for awhile. She didn't know if she completely understood, and the way Darren held himself made her quite nervous. The boy huffed and then sat completely still. His eyes were deep and thinking.

"I… can sympathize." Tweety admitted, blinking her owlish blink. "I don't think that I understand completely, but I can understand the pain. Everything about this… it's all wrong."

Darren looked up, his smile sad. "For some of us."

Tweety's eyebrows rose, her face growing more and more incredulous. "What do you mean… 'for some of us?' I think it's for _all_ of us. I mean, I'm getting brain-raped, you've lost your sister and who knows where she is… How is everyone not experiencing injustice?"

And here, Tweety sat back on her haunches, arms folded across her chest. "I have to hand it to the Deceptions, though," she looked towards their masters sitting at the coffee table. "And it's probably the only reason why I can stand Megatron… it's that he had a great plan. I mean, a _great_ plan. I can't help but respect him for it. The only history of the war I've ever heard was from the badlands, but even those stories are impressive. He's crafty, I'll give him that."

Darren seemed thoughtful. "So… you just like him because of his brain?"

She thought about that too. "Yeah. I do."

"Well, I guess you have something in common then. I think you're both quite the intellectuals."

Tweety stopped here. "What do you mean?"

"Well," the boy began with a raunchy grin, leaning forward. "I think I'm not the only one who heard about your great escape during the drill. I mean, maybe not so much fellow intellectuals as you both are just _feisty._ Who else would have squeezed out of Starscream's servo and let the bugger chase 'em for half an hour?"

Tweety processed two things: first, that everyone must know about what happened during the drill, which was slightly ominous. She filed that away for later, however. Second, that Darren, albeit quite lazily, was trying to complement her.

She would add a third fact to these processes: that she actually _liked_ it.

"Well," she countered, "I guess we do have that in common. But… don't you think that might actually make us _clash_ more? Like, we both hate each other for our attitude. Darren, my friend, you don't _know_ the things he's done to me. The words we've had."

"I can imagine. But you non-feely types don't really care, probably." Darren held a hand to his chin, drumming the fingers of the other hand on his thigh. "You're feelings don't get in the way. I bet between you two it's just like a dominance, human verses mech sorta thing."

She nodded along with his words, and continued to add her thoughts on there relationship. Throughout the rest of the playdate, Tweety couldn't help but feel more and more attached to the British boy. His eyes went kitten-soft at the gentlest mention of her pains. His voice also whooped in triumph at her stories, during which the climaxes he stilled in anticipation. She had never been sure of Darren's attachments toward her, or the way he seemed to scoot closer at every opportunity. But today, she realized, that she might just like the boy back.

When she looked over at their master's once, she noticed Megatron watching them. He wasn't smiling nor frowning, simply observing. His piercing, wolf-like gaze disturbed her.

And when she felt herself mentally jump to protect those new-found affections for the boy, she knew she was in trouble.

* * *

 **A/N:** Well... I'm not going to try and explain this one away. Yeah. I'm a lazy bum. I'm crazy busy, but I am a lazy bum.

But at least y'all got any chapter at all! So be thankful. _*Huff*_ And now, I would like to introduce y'all to our wonderful new beta, Need2Scream! Without them, this chapter would have been junkier than it is! _If you know they're fantastic, clap your hands!_ _*clap, clap!*_

I'm kinda learning to tell my perfectionism that a bad chapter is better than no chapter at all. I honestly rewrote that scene in Tweety's head _forty friggin times_ before I realized that it needed to be following Meg's POV, not hers. And then, I still didn't like it. But oh well! That's my new thing: oh well! It's shit? Oh well! No one likes it? Oh, _well!_ Have you lost your entire bootiful fanbase because you took too darn long? Oh _flippin'_ WELL!

Also, I got a 13" MacBook Air and it's _pretty darn awesome,_ guys. Just sayin'. And Scrivener is da BOMB. Srsly.

Well... So much for a coherent A/N. Seems I'm incapable of one.

Review, recommend, run around, GO FORTH AND PROSPER, all dat good stuff. Tootles!


	10. Highly Illogical

**WARNINGS: Frightening/intense scenes, mild cursing.**

 **SEE FIRST CHAPTER FOR DISCLAIMER**

* * *

This would take awhile. It was apparent to her by the way Megatron danced around Soundwave across the hard floor in the training room; both were engaged in the moment. Silent determination rolled off Soundwave's frame. His movements were calculated, almost irritable, as he dodged Megatron's attacks. As for Megatron, he was, as usual, expressive. His shoulders hiked aggressively, his sword swiped with the precision and strength befitting of a conqueror of worlds. Soundwave's ninja-like movements fit well with Megatron. Like a panther poised against a lion. Swiftness against strength, black against white, silence verses a roar. Tweety saw that they _complimented_ each other.

Then, Tweety let out a rather large yawn.

 _Boys,_ was all she could think. The clanging and stomping going on in the training room was about to drive her mad. The smell of oils and fumes permeated the room, the hiss and pump of pistons surrounding her a drowning din. She heard a growl here, a shout there. They all clamored against each other in what they said was practice, but she knew it was more base than that. _It's even the same across species - testosterone is universal._

Sighing, she reached for a data pad that Darren had loaned her last week after their conversation about the patch. He had been surprised to learn that she could read despite being born in the badlands. At least, she assumed she had been born in the badlands - one might never know. And she intended to let Darren keep thinking that way for the time being.

Darren's dark mop of hair had shot up as he looked at her in surprise, then glee. Then he was off, kicking up pillows and blankets in his wake — "I know exactly what you need to do when you're so bored: read!" — and soon returned with armfuls of his special made human-sized tablets. Loaded onto many of them were Soundwave's work assignments. She had to hold herself carefully to not show her jealousy at the sight, but she had been quickly distracted when Darren threw one at her. "I hope you like classical," he teased with a smile. His eyes twinkled underneath hair that had been steadily growing into a mullet of sorts. _"Dante's Inferno_ is your first assignment."

And treat it as an assignment she had. The Inferno had proved itself to her as one man's proverbial slap in the face for the whole of his society—both for Dante's era and those before his time. And by the time she was done with it, she found she had little fondness for it. So much so, that when Darren thrusted the _Purgatorio_ at her, she flinched away like it was a frying pan full of popping grease. That's how she had ended up with the Diary of Anne Frank. She stuck her nose over the data-pad once more to look at Megatron. She caught his glance at her, before Soundwave suddenly had him on the floor. She snickered.

Megatron struggled and fought his way back to his feet without Soundwave's assistance. Everyone knew he was too proud to accept help up; it was dangerous to offer it, in fact.

Starscream, Thundercracker, and Skywarp sat in a corner with the coneheads, a trine that had been stationed on one of Cybertron's moons during the war and had been called back to Cybertron after Optimus Prime's death. Seekers kept with other seekers, Tweety had noticed. And medics with medics, as Knockout and Breakdown took a moment to down their energon after their own human had been gleaning much information about the habits of the Decepticons in the past few weeks.

For example, she knew Megatron only sparred with Soundwave when he had something he was mentally chewing on, the communications officer one of the only Megatron deemed a suitable opponent for himself. Today, watching the two mechs move, She could only assume he was still thinking about their patch.

Back on his feet, Megatron squared up with Soundwave once more. And her thoughts pushed against herself She knew he had been a bit more… warm with her as of late. She was now even allowed _outside_ the playpen — well, the training room didn't have a playpen. But she dismissed that. He was allowing her to be unsupervised, nothing but his occasional glances checking on her. Anyhow, wasn't that worth something? Her data pad was now forgotten among her blankets as she watched the two launch back into battle.

Soundwave swiped, Megatron ducked. _Does he really trust me now?_ The gray warlord barreled forward in a spin, footwork immaculate, rotation precise. _What does he even want with me?_ Soundwave's parry was almost too quick to see, the characteristically silent mech almost a blur. _Why do I even care?_

And here, she got it. Realization struck her, causing her to sit up straight. Megatron roared loudly as his blade clashed against Soundwaves, and for a moment they pushed the sheer enormity of themselves together, feet scrambling for purchase.

She actually _cared._ Her brain squealed just as loudly as the straining swords. Surprise morphed her features, then horror, as the reality of it sunk in.

 _I don't_ want _to be here!_ She scolded herself, even as Megatron chased after Soundwave with an audible growl as the officer danced away. They tromped past, too busy to see her fuming and huffing. _I don't want to be a trinket - not a toy, nor an accessory. I am more than that. I have_ dignity _to keep._

Her thoughts balked a bit, however, just as Megatron did when Soundwave pulled complicated maneuvers, moving quicker and sharper than the warlord was able to process. _But, he's treated you well,_ called a voice, something sickly sweet. It seemed so reasonable. Megatron lashed against Soundwave, and the silent mech disarmed him with a swift flick of his wrist. Megatron growled, subspacing another blade, and hurled himself at the other mech. _No!_ She screamed at herself. _He_ hasn't _treated me well… well, when he's happy with me, he does…_ And again Megatron was losing, footwork getting sloppy, leaving openings that could be fatal.

Her inner sparring continued on as she watched Megatron constantly spin and duck to keep Soundwave at bay as the dark mech retaliated. _I don't want this. I don't want this._ Her own thoughts were so furious she almost didn't notice when Megatron suddenly stalled mid-step. Soundwave continued to move forward to strike.

By the time she realized something was wrong, he was already on the floor. He hadn't make a sound when Soundwave hit him, but his face was warped with pain, servo clutching his chest. Soundwave seemed so stunned he simply didn't know what to do.

The surveillance officer stood for a moment before seeming to realize himself. "Lord Megatron! Are you alright?" His sword clattered to the ground as he disgarded it, kneeling next to his master. The officer's voice carried across the busy training room and beckoned the attention of anyone who hadn't seen yet. Soundwave's baritone was not heard often, and when he spoke, he was listened to.

The room was suddenly on the move, converging on Megatron. Tweety found herself following the flow. Before she knew it, she was a dozen feet away, skittering to a halt when a pede stepped down in her path. She looked up, darting around the giants; she had to see, had to know, was Megatron—

She only saw him as Knockout lifted him to his feet with the help of Breakdown, and only a glimpse. He grimaced and grunted as they drug him across the floor towards the doors. _His chest— it's not… nothing's wrong with it._ She had thought Soundwave had stabbed him, but his frame was not marred. And something nagged at her: again, her worry proved she cared. _I care,_ she thought, unsettled.

"Clear a path! Give us some room!" Knockout's usually cool and haughty voice had gained an edge. Tweety followed a few paces behind, trotting between legs. She looked up to watch the curious faces of the Decepticons watching. Some seemed worried. Most seemed critical.

She caught a glimpse of Starcream's clutch. For all his whining and complaining, she had to note that he was one of the few who didn't look like a hungry wolf. His wings stood up stiff, face alert. One of his subordinates leaned over and whispered something, a smirk on his face. Starscream rounded on him, opening his mouth and snapping away in Vosian, but mid-sentence he caught himself, and the moment seemed over before it was started. He watched Megatron leave the room from the corner of his optics.

Tweety turned back to Megatron and the medics to see that they were already out of sight. She took off in a sprint after them, legs pumping to keep up. Around the corner she found them moving down another hallway. She pursued up until she turned to see Knockout taking advantage of the quiet hallway to look directly into Megatron's spark.

Tweety paused, her breaths coming quickly after her sprint. Her thoughts were a whirlwind of questions, but one stood out above the rest: _It he okay?_ She stamped the thought down as soon as she processed it, feeling weak. She _shouldn't_ be developing fond feelings for her captors, words like _Stockholm syndrome_ and _idiotic_ coming to mind. Her mind rotated and spun, looking for an angle, a distraction, before she realized how stupid she was being. _If he's sick, now might be the time to run!_

But did she want to run? At this question, so many confusing, disorienting thoughts overwhelmed her like a tidal wave of doubt. What of Darren? Where would she, _they_ go? How would she sustain herself: food, clothing, shelter, _purpose_ to live for? How could she possibly get back to Earth, and to what end?

The quiet of the hall added to her sudden emptiness. Her melancholy was absolute; she shouldn't be so worried about what Megatron wanted out of this, but rather, what _she_ wanted out of it.

"… why you need to keep it under control!" Knockout's voice brought her out of her reverie, his volume increasing with each angered word until he was shouting rather loudly. He was in a rare fit over something besides his own appearance. Tweety was not incredibly surprised. She knew from Breakdown's and Knockout's pets that the doctor actually _did_ take his job seriously, but she hadn't ever heard him in one of his rare tirades. And watching the scene in front of her, she realized that she was watching something very, _very_ interesitng.

Tweety moved a bit farther away as Megatron took the berating silently, huffing as Breakdown injected a syringe directly into his main fuel line. _What's that…?_ She wondered. The warlord was leaned back against a wall, on his feet, but still seeming unstable. He look more ragged than Tweety had ever seen him. The scars running down his cheeks seemed more prominent, and his venting seemed labored.

"It's not something easily controlled, now is it?" Megatron was able to snap back to Knockout, if a bit lamely. "You're the medic. You're supposed to provide alternatives."

Knockout seemed ready to launch into another fit before Megatron silenced him with a look that reminded him of his place. Knockout grumbled and fumed a moment or two before turning to regard him again. "We have discussed this, my lord," he said in almost a sing-song, his mouth turning into a crooked smile. "There are two options: increase your spark's energy intake by bonding, or up the dosage."

Tweety's face scrunched. _Bonding? Dosage?_

" _Neither_ are options." Megatron growled, pushing both of them away and pacing about in the corridor. He soon tired himself out again, however, and found the farthest wall to lean on. "I cannot be hindered by the medications side effects any more than I am, and the first option is _inconceivable."_

Knockout seemed irritated, but didn't comment. Breakdown was as quiet as ever, sub-spacing his medical tools. It seemed to have reached a stalemate; the medics watched Megatron huff and puff against the wall, and Megatron stared at the floor until the silence stretched too long.

He looked up. Knockout seemed to start a bit, clearing his throat. "I think it's best you return home for the day, master. You will be needing your rest."

Megatron pulled himself to his full height, if rather slowly. "I agree. I will do that."

Tweety cocked her head. She wasn't quite sure why he would be agreeing, and she felt a knot forming in the bottom of her throat. She labeled it _concern,_ which she quickly stamped out once more.

"Don't forget pipsqueak over there, too." Megatron followed Breakdown's voice to Tweety standing in the hallway. Caught, excuses started flowing out of her mouth faster than she could concoct them, making her speech a strange mishmash of syllables.

Megatron's more tolerable mood seemed to not be affected by his attack. He marched forward and gently plucked Tweety off the floor without comment, moving towards the exit. The girl looked up at him, dumbfounded, and more than a bit sheepish.

"So… what happened back there?" She had already latched onto his thumb. She had been hesitant to do so before, but since the patch, it had felt rather comfortable.

"None of your business." Megatron snapped. It surprised her a bit, but didn't sting as it usually did. It wasn't as spirited as his usual remarks.

She persisted. "Well, y'know, if you're gonna croak on me, I'd at least like to know so I can make arrangements." She tried to cover up any concern that might work it's way into her voice through the jab, and it seemed to work by indication of his reaction.

He looked at her. Hard. "You'd just love it if I died, wouldn't you?" Before she could respond, "There is no need for you to be… _concerned._ It is not your place, human."

She paused. "I just… forget it." She huffed and turned off to the side, less hurt than simply miffed by his stubborness. He watched her from the corner of his vision, keeping his pace. Tweety felt her jaw tick, her eyes squint; it was slower than usual.

She knew the hallways so well at that point she didn't really pay attention to where they were going or what path they took. At least, not until they were in the swell of the main ways. Megatron usually had a path cleared for him, but it was rush hour, and there wasn't any room for mechs to move. Along they swam through the pushing and shoving river of armored warriors until Tweety could feel Megatron's hand heating beneath her. He wasn't having it.

And then, a voice. It jumped just above the noise. "Lord Megatron! Lord Megatron!"

He turned, Tweety's gaze following his. To her surprise, Rosegold stood in the doorway leading to Darkmount. The mouth was considerably quieter than the rest. Tweety felt Megatron pause, thinking, then shift forward.

When they were a few paces away from the bouncing maid, she began shouting again. "Lord Megatron, I know you're not well, but a mech wishes to see you at the Iaconian gardens. He says it's urgent."

"Urgent?" Megatron scoffed. "What could be so urgent that he can't come to _me_ instead?" Tweety even felt her own brows pinching. It was rather odd. And how did Rosegold already know of Megatron's collapse?

Before any more suspicion could arise, however, Rosegold's optics paled a bit more. "It's about the chasms, my lord. The mech says it's… urgent."

Tweety hadn't seen Rosegold in a few days since it seemed they had spent a lot of time at Headquarters as of late. But she wouldn't have forgotten Rosegold's dignified manner and cultured words around Lord Megatron in that time, and it was strangely absent at that moment. Her voice was in a fevered pitch; her indiscreet yelling was not the norm.

Megatron didn't give it anymore thought, though. "Take Tweety home, then." Whatever Rosegold had been trying to convey, Megatron had understood.

He tilted his hand forward, and Tweety slid into Rosegold's without fuss. He turned and strode off into the masses without another word.

It left the two females standing dumbly. Just as Tweety was about to say something, Rosegold turned abruptly, back towards Darkmount.

Rosegold walked in silence, long enough for the noise in Headquarters to fade away completely. Then, Tweety looked up at the femme. "What's going on?" Her voice was almost a whisper, her hand clenching a bit tighter around Rose's thumb. She could sense something just wasn't right, and it worried her. Was Rosegold unwell?

Rosegold looked down, startled, as if she was in a trance. The femme hesitated. "I don't know if I can tell you." A pause. Then, "It's… it's not what you think." The femme moved stiffly, Tweety noted, almost _robotically,_ no pun intended. Her gracious movements and bright, intelligent smiles were nowhere to be found.

"What do you mean it's not what I think?" Tweety cocked her head, stroked the metal underneath her hand. "You said it's about the earthquakes, right?"

Rosegold's lips thinned. "I don't think… please, just don't ask any more questions."

Tweety removed her hand from Rosegold's thumb, placing it in her lap. A feeling had begun to gnaw deep in her gut, something unpleasant, an anxiety. She allowed herself to sway against Rosegold's strides to keep her balance.

Tweety looked about the hallway they were in and suddenly noticed something. Rosegold had taken a turn they usually didn't. In fact, Tweety had never been down these halls.

"Rosegold." Tweety tried to keep the edge from her voice. "Why are we here?"

Rosegold didn't respond, she just sped up. Tweety fisted her clothes.

"Rosegold," she turned to look at the maid, "answer me. Where are you taking me?" Was Megatron actually _done_ with her? Tweety was scrambling to understand. She knew something here wasn't right the moment she had been alone with Rosegold. Was Megatron finishing her off? Her face was paling, but she comforted herself, _That… just couldn't be right._

Rosegold wasn't providing any answers, anyhow. The maid slowed, facing a doorway. She punched in a code, and suddenly the bright daylight of Iacon shone down on them. Tweety raised a hand to shield her eyes against the sunlight — the star above Cybertron at the moment was very, very bright.

The femme did not pause, continuing on into an alley. A main street buzzed to their left, perhaps a few hundred yards away. They alley itself was cleaner than some Tweety had seen, but regardless, turborats still scurried behind dumpsters and into the crevasses in buildings. Besides that, they were alone. Tweety knew she couldn't call for help. And who would listen?

"Rosegold, what are you doing? Talk to me." Tweety tried to think she could draw upon their growing friendship, but it didn't seem to be working. "What's going _on?"_

They were a few feet in the alley, and Rosegold stopped. The weight of the buildings was distracting to Tweety, making it hard to watch the maid as she leaned against a wall and held her shoulder. "Tweety, you have to understand, I didn't _want_ to do this." Her voice was hollow, her optics darting to the sides of the alley, but not in panic. The maid was simply being observant. Was she even really a _maid?_ Tweety was questioning everything now, trying to see the lies that were _somewhere_ in all of this. Something about what Rosegold was doing seemed cold, calculated, and practiced. She was empty like a fine-tuned machine.

Tweety stared up at her in daze that was induced by a slowly growing horror. She didn't have time to say anything before a doorway further up the alley swung open. She whipped around to look.

A sharp pain pierced her neck. She didn't have time to identify the figure before she felt herself go limp, the world blurring in an instant. She wasn't sure what movement was her own and what was Rosegold's, but she fell into Rosegold's now-seated lap with a small _thump_. She stared up at the femme, loosing her focus fast. She thought she saw her optics mist over. "I'm sorry." Rosegold whispered, then blackness.

* * *

Tweety woke slowly. The sounds around her buzzed faintly, indecipherable. The only thing she really could hear was that of her thudding heartbeat. She felt like her skull was full of water, the tiniest of movements sloshing it around. She cracked open an eye carefully. She expected the room to be horribly bright, but it wasn't, strange enough.

She moved to work her way into a sitting position, but a tightness around her shoulders and wrists restrained her. Despite how her head swam, she titled it to the side. Straps. She was strapped to a table.

Light glared down from above, she noticed. It made the rest of the room hard to see, but she did see a small table to the side. Tools: sharp, jagged, precise. The rest of the room had started to become clearer, but she heard her heartbeat up in tempo.

She thought of calling out for Rosegold, but something suddenly hit her. _She_ had drugged Tweety, knocked her cold. Betrayal stung, stung far deeper than the needle the maid had used. All Tweety could ask was, _Why?_ What would have compelled her? She had been apologetic - it had seemed as if something, or _someone_ , was forcing her. She tried to have hope, tried to give mercy, but that femme was her _friend._ Her only friend.

 _And Megatron… Megatron, what—_ Her thoughts stalled. What would have become of the mech? Was there anyone waiting there in the gardens for him? She tensed to think what might have happened if someone _had_ been waiting for him. In his weakened state, could he have defended himself?

The creak of a door interrupted her thoughts. Through the darkness moved a familiar shape, the light illuminating a hulking frame, a cannon stuck on a shoulder. It turned, keeping its back to her, tapping away on a computer.

Her voice seemed to disappear then, but she managed to choke out a few words. "Who… are you?"

Her answer was silence. The stranger turned, a faint glow illuminating another screen. Or _was_ it a stranger?

"Hey!" The cannon, the hulking chest, "You're—!"

It turned, its sudden movement stopping her short. The figure moved into the bright light, revealing a lone optic that glowed eerily against its face.

"Yes, human," his monotone muttered. "The only logical conclusion would be that I am Shockwave."

She stared for a moment, but before she could say anything he had turned away again. This time, he moved closer, tools tinkling off to her side where she couldn't see.

She felt her breaths coming faster and faster. Why was she here? What did he want with her? _Shockwave, why—_ the questions flooded her with an ever increasing panic that threatened to overwhelm her.

"But, why are you—"

"Do try to understand, human, that though I may not have Lord Megatron's favor for a time," he returned to her, methodically locking a scalpel into his right servo, "the research that will come from these experiments will surely be more valuable to him than you being alive for his amusement. You are not nearly important enough."

She blinked rapidly. Research? _Experiments?_

"B-But why!" She blurted. "Why am I…"

"An appropriate subject?" He turned a blade in another hand, a very, very small saw. Well, it was very small to him. To her, it was a proper bone saw. Her throat bobbed as she gulped. "It is illogical that you would have celiac's disease so long after I removed it from the human population. It is rather… disconcerting. I must understand why you now have it."

He busied himself with his tools again, revving a circular saw. She jumped in her restraints, buckling against the table. "Wait, wait! Megatron— he— he will be so _angry!_ You haven't even asked him, have you?" Her terror turned to fury, spinning her words from pleading to berating. "Why would you do this? He hasn't said you could!" She knew this more by her gut than by what Shockwave had said; Megatron and her were finally seeming to get along. It just didn't add up.

Shockwave paused, looking directly at her for the first time. "I have told you: Lord Megatron's benefits from my research will certainly outweigh the losses."

And here, the saw moved closer, slowly hissing it's way into motion. Shockwave's only form of expression, his optic, stayed steady and unaffected.

"And he will certainly see that once I am done with you."

She screamed.

* * *

 **A/N:** Well, aren't I a good girl? Updating in a reasonable time? Bah! Le gasp! It's inconceivable! I think I deserve cookies... or reviews. Gluten-free, vegan cookies, or reviews. Y'alls choice. :] And I know I'm a horrible, horrible person to leave y'all hanging with Shockwave all like ah-be-up-in-yo-...stomach? like that, but I still think I deserve cookies! Grr! Gimme. -_-

Let's give some love to our bootiful beta, Need2Scream! Guys, seriously, I am so, _so_ happy with how these chapters are turning out because of this _magnificent_ specimen of a human. They're teaching me _so_ much about the editing process, and about patience with meself. So, so much patience. Haha! Thanks a bunch, sweetie!

Well... I'll be waiting on those cookies... and reviews. ;) Tootles~!


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